


Philophobia

by Talle



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Complete, Deal With It, Eventual Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky, Fluff and Angst, I think I just made myself sad with this tbh, Katsuki Yuuri and Victor Nikiforov are Yuri Plisetsky's Parents, Long-Haired Yuri Plisetsky, M/M, Multi, Other, Post-Canon, They are one big skating family, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Yuri Plisetsky Is A Little Shit, Yuri Plisetsky Needs a Hug, Yuri Plisetsky is a Brat, Yuri is an idiot, Yuri pulls a Viktor, so chill it's gonna be alright
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-03-13 16:03:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 90,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18944293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talle/pseuds/Talle
Summary: He’s making excuses. Excuses, excuses, Yuri is as sick of them as he was before, perhaps even more so now. He’s heard them all repeatedly, been given every single one that could have been imagined in the past. Yuri doesn’t care for such things, he finds them ridiculous, and yet the most pathetic one he can recall are the ones he’s telling himself now.----Yuri Plisetsky has disappeared without a trace, leaving behind his best friend and worried "parents". It doesn't take much before the champions of the figure skating world are suddenly thrown into a man hunt across the globe, and for the love of all that there is, he's somehow forgotten his phone.





	1. Ten Years too Long

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yakov Feltsman had been training the Russian Figure Skating team for the better half of ten years, and already that was ten years too many in his opinion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually surprised that I'm working on something again, it's been too long since I've written a fic that's worth more than a chapter!
> 
> If I'm being honest, I think the real reason I'm writing this is because I just really wanted a super specific fic and I knew I wasn't going to get it unless I wrote it myself so boom! Here is the results of my tired brain not getting enough sleep and my terrible living habits! And I guess a little venting because I work out my issues through the embodiment of fictional characters!
> 
> I just love making them suffer don't I?

Yakov Feltsman had been training the Russian Figure Skating team for the better half of ten years, and already that was ten years too many in his opinion. Of course he loved his job, he wouldn’t have stuck around that long if he hadn’t after all, and his reputation among the coaches of the figure skating world was tremendous. If you wanted to sell your soul and succeed in skating, he was the man you went to with his technique in criticism and routine transforming each student that crossed his path into the shining stars they were. That was the promise he made whenever he took one under his wing and the results could literally speak for themselves.

Mila Babicheva, Georgie Popovich, Yuri Plisetsky and Viktor Nikiforov, each both a pleasure and hell to teach if his professionalism would permit him to say. Yakov couldn’t even count the amount of times one of them had gotten up to _something_ troublesome, and it’d become a joke that all you had to do to figure it out was count the amount of hairs he’d lost in his frenzy of stress. He sometimes wondered how much more his poor heart could take before someone did something that sent him into cardiac arrest. It wouldn’t be much of a surprise if that ever did happen though, Yakov knew he wasn’t young anymore. His oldest skater, Viktor was already 28 and hell, even _Nikiforov_ was considered ancient for a competitor in the sport, as heavily reminded by Yuri on an almost daily basis.

But nonetheless, he loved them all deeply, as in very deep down in the recesses of his heart, deeply. Tough love was the better way to describe Yakov’s affections and he’d been sparingly careful as to when he’d show it if he ever did. He feared that none of his skaters would let it go otherwise and that was something he most certainly didn’t want going to their heads. They already were a rowdy bunch by nature.

Today however, did not warrant any need for dishing out choreography, or shouting for one of them to “stop being an idiot and get back to practice.” And it also meant that the man could sleep in for the first time since the sport’s season had finished. Yes, it was truly gratifying to not have to get up at the crack ass of dawn and head to the rink. It was even better that he could finally take some time off to wind down. Rare as it was, not a single skater had stayed in St Petersburg for the off season, and the blissful peace was so foreign, Yakov thought he might cry at its presence.

That meant there was no Mila to throw Yuri like a javelin in demonstration of her strength, although she _would_ be good at the sport if she ever did decided to take it up in the future. Instead, the red haired woman was busy in Italy with her girlfriend, another skater named Sara Crispino.

There was also no Georgi asking for _dating advice_ as he swiped through his tinder profile — he _was_ aware that Yakov was divorced right? Certainly not the best person for those sorts of topics, or at least he believed so.

No Yuri either, the 16 year old had up and left for Kazakhstan the second the off season had begun. Something about visiting his best friend Otabek Altin, yet another skater who Yuri had met the season before.

And of course, despite _really_ wanting to forget him for a moment, Viktor Nikiforov, the evermore eccentric man, had taken it upon himself to go on his _honeymoon_. Yakov was honestly a little lost at this revelation. He could remember standing at the kiss and cry beside a 15 year old Viktor who’d just won gold in the Junior Grand Prix as if it were yesterday. Now, the very same man, who at 22 bought a _god damn hot pink Cadillac_ and would constantly take a 9 year old Yuri joyriding, was _married_ , to none other than Katsuki Yuuri.

Time sure flew by fast, and if that hadn’t been a big enough wake up call to the constantly changing world around him, Viktor had finally announced his final season as a competitor on the ice. Yakov knew it was better he considered his own retirement soon, just as well.

But for now, as the sun rises in greeting over St Petersburg, Yakov sighs contently because nothing is going to ruin his first day of break.

Oh how wrong he is.

It’s barely half an hour after waking up when his phone rings, and Yakov wants to murder whoever’s responsible for the disruption of his relaxation. It rings again, and rings for a third time, and it’s about to ring for a fourth when the old man finally realises it’s not going to stop unless he makes it. With the full intention of grabbing the stupid device to take a page out of Yuri’s book and _throw_ the cursed thing, he pauses at the contact listed on the screen.

 _Otabek Altin_ is written in Cyrillic, flashing as the phone buzzes. Yakov has to pause and squint, double checking what he’s reading before racking his brains for a plausible reason as to why Yuri’s friend was calling _him_. He can’t think of a good enough story, nor an explanation for how the Kazakh’s contact had been added to his phone, so he sighs heavily and lifts the phone to his ear as he accepts the call.

“ _Da?”_ He answers, not so kindly, after all he _was_ supposed to be relaxing and he can’t even seem to have that on a free day. He’s fairly educated in the geography of the country however, and knows that the young man on the other end can understand him, so when Otabek replies in _english_ instead of Russian, Yakov becomes a little more concerned.

“Mr Feltsman?” His voice is on edge, and quite unlike the usual monotone, his accent is also thick which tells Yakov very little about the situation besides the fact that something is seriously wrong. “It’s Otabek Altin, Yuri’s friend—“

“I know, I think the idiot put your contact in my phone… why are you calling?” He wants to hide the concern but it’s slipping through the façade he’s built very quickly.

“It’s um… it’s Yuri.” There’s a beat of silence and all Yakov can think is _what the fuck did that boy do_ this _time?_ But it’s too silent, and the impatience is catching up, and now Yakov doesn’t care that it’s the first day of the off season, he just wants to make sure his youngest skater is alright.

“Yurochka?” He uses the diminutive for his name as a way of convincing himself everything is ok. It’s clearly not. “Isn’t he supposed to be with you?”

“Y-yes.” Otabek’s words are stunted, and it’s clearly not the reception, “He was with me…uh, yesterday after he arrived we were chatting and I… said something that may or may not have freaked him out.”

“May or may not? What did you say to him boy!?”

“Look, he’s gone, as well as his stuff and I just need to know if he went back or something—“

“Went back?!” The familiar palpitation of Yavok’s heart increases as he pinches the bridge of his nose. He’d already dealt with one run away Viktor two years ago, and then a runaway Yuri in pursuit. That event was enough stress for the rest of his life, he most certainly didn’t want another repeat. Last time, Viktor had returned with Katsuki at his side, declaring he was to coach the boy for that season. If Yuri was smart, he wouldn’t pull a Viktor, he wouldn’t risk everything for some stupid reason and Yakov could only pray that was true.

“If he’s not with you… then he’s missing. He’s not answering any phone calls either, he left his phone at my place.” Otabek mumbles, a whisper of words that barely catch his ear. Yakov can recognise the certain pitch and edge to his voice, he knows he’s on the verge of tears.

“Altin, ring the airport, search your home rink, I’m going to contact the other skaters and see if anyone has heard from him.” He wants to say that the only reason he’s calm is because he’s honest to god used to these sorts of things by now, but that simply isn’t the case and after spending ten years growing accustomed to their idiotic ways, Yakov is still downright terrified.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapter is done! And wow, I'm actually hyped about this? 
> 
> I know that it's really short, I promise though that it'll get longer as it goes. I'm currently up to Chapter 6 and there's a total of 15998 words, so hopefully that's something exciting to look forward to? I mean, It's not much, however I am planning to aim for 20ish chapters. I'll see how I go anyways!
> 
> Also I've been listening to 'Yuri on Ice' and literally, this song is the most peaceful thing I've ever listened to while working. It makes me wanna watch the anime for a fourth time.
> 
> Lemme know what you think of this chapter in the comments!
> 
> (This story isn't beta read!)


	2. Important Lists

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He didn’t deserve this man and yet here Yuuri was married to him. With the promise of more love and more mornings like this, he’d wondered how he was living before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay I've gotten to Viktuuri fluff! Is it Viktuuri or Victuuri or is it something else completely? Who knows, I'll probably end up alternating between the two.
> 
> Slowly building up on this story. This chapter was a little longer than the first but hopefully I managed to make interesting enough? IDK, whenever I write fanfics I try my best to write it as if a person has never heard of the fandom before?
> 
> If there are mistakes I apologise, I usually read over my work but I'm also watching the International Adult Figure Skating right now (I know, an actual skating Otaku wowowow) -- GOOD LUCK TO EVERYONE IN OBERSTDORF, GERMANY!!!

Katsuki Yuuri wakes up to the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen. It makes his heart flutter, and he’s full of so much bubbly energy he thinks he could burst at the seams. It can’t be real, but it is, and as he reaches a hand out to gently brush aside his _husband’s_ silvery locks, the tangibility of his actions allow for warmth to blossom from his fingertips.

“Hmm?” The man beside him hums lightly, shifting to pull Yuuri in closer. It’s cosy in the bed, and he yearns to sleep in more, but he’s far too excited to allow for such waste of time. “Yuuri? _Moya lyubov'_ you’re already awake?” He feels his cheeks heat up at the term of endearment. No matter how many times Viktor has said it before, it always makes him feel special.

He was the one who stole _the_ Viktor Nikiforov from the world after all. The most decorated, famous, Olympic gold medallist—

“You look like you’re thinking too much.” Viktor suddenly says, and it pulls Yuuri from any more thoughts he’s having. “What are you thinking about?”

“How I managed to get so lucky.” Yuuri mumbles truthfully, head nuzzling into the crook of Viktor’s neck. The man laughs lightly, not in mockery but love as he rolls onto his back, taking Yuuri along with him so that his head can rest on his chest. In the quietness of the morning, he can hear the steady rhythm of Viktor’s heartbeat and relishes in the soft sound.

No one else was allowed to hear this but him.

“You? You’re mistaken, _I’m_ the lucky one clearly.” His light blue eyes shine with the same excitement Yuuri feels, a hand interlocking with the other. Their golden rings flash in the sunlight that streams through the window of their hotel room, and they both smile at the reality of their moment.

It’s the fourth day of their honeymoon and they’d planned on visiting Yuuri’s family Onsen for the day. It’d been a gift from his parents, a full day of pampering, and the entire area was promised to be closed off for them and them alone.

Yuuri smiles, because he doesn’t know what else to do.

“I’m really happy Vitya.” He finally manages, and oh god, he thinks he may cry for the third time since they’d consummate their marriage. He’d been thankful that Viktor had been just as happy, otherwise he considered the moment slightly embarrassing.

“I’m happy too… _really_ happy.” Like the extra person he is, Viktor pulls Yuuri’s right hand to his lips and presses a kiss to his ring finger. “Shall we have breakfast _moya lyubov'_?” Yuuri nods as he blushes again.

“But five more minutes of cuddles first.”

They spend a decent amount of time getting ready for the day, taking turns to surprise one another with gentle touches and smiles before room service arrives. _“We deserve this Yuuri, we’re on our honeymoon.”_ Viktor has reasoned, but it’s an unnecessary statement as the Japanese man had already ordered their food.  Viktor adds the moment to his list of things he absolutely adores about Yuuri, followed by just exactly how much he loves him. The kindness Yuuri has simply can’t be found in any average person, only him, and Viktor wants to make sure he never forgets a single moment that shows this.

It had started as a joke, months before their wedding when Yuuri had stumbled upon an old notebook. Admittedly, with his tendency to forget things too often, Viktor had also gotten the experience of a pleasant surprise, after they both spent the afternoon going through the contents of forgotten pages.

Like a journey, the writing had begun in Cyrillic, Viktor’s native script, with numbers and symbols Yuuri struggled to translate. Later, Viktor had explained they’d been his drafted choreographies for his programs in figure skating, and Yuuri had marvelled over the foreign letters that decorated each page. With more flicks of the paper, the nature of the words had changed, and soon a book for Viktor’s career had shifted into a book of Japanese words. Yuuri could recognise the kanji instantly, written a little haphazardly at the beginning and only improving with time. It was beautiful, almost another language entirely with the way Viktor had dotted the ‘i’s in romaji and crossed the ‘t’s in English, and by the time his eyes had laid rest on his own name, Yuuri had been moved to tears.

_“What is this?”_ He could remember seeing his own name, next to some more Russian, characters he _could_ read thanks to Viktor’s constant obsession with them. Together, the title at the top of the page had spelled out “Why I love Katsuki Yuuri” and the endless pages that had been filled out afterwards in all three languages, Japanese, English and Russian, had stolen his breath away.

“ _Incomplete.”_ Viktor whispered, “ _There’s so much to add; I don’t think I ever could finish, but I’ll dedicate my life to it anyway.”_

He didn’t deserve this man and yet here Yuuri was married to him. With the promise of more love and more mornings like this, he’d wondered how he was living before.

“I love how you just _know_ what I want without even needing to ask me.” His mouth is full of the pancakes Yuuri had ordered, but he’s too busy with his own food to tell Viktor to finish eating first. There’s the sounds of metal scraping against ceramics, a few more moments of pleasant silence, and then finally the couple finish their meal and stack the dishes outside their door for room service to take away.

Viktor retreats to their bed, flopping down carelessly as he pats the space vacant and Yuuri joins him before wrapping his arms around his neck immediately. He hopes what people call the ‘Honeymoon Period’ never ends, because everything is perfect and more. _Perhaps I should start my own list._ Yuuri thinks, and he falls in love with the idea instantaneously.

From the corner of the room comes the disruption of their moment, popping the small bubble of their privacy with a faint buzz. They’re giddy however, excited even, as the text message that’s come through their emergency contact phone is the daily photo of Makkachin, their beloved poodle, that Yuuri’s friend Phichit had promised to send while dog sitting.

Yuuri smiles at the notification. It’s a cute picture too, one of the Thai man posing with their furry companion besides what Viktor makes out to be a mess of the food bowl on the floor. _Makkachin misses you both!_ Phichit’s comment reads, and the newlyweds coo in adoration. “I kinda miss Makka more than I thought.” Yuuri sighs, replacing the phone in its designated spot.

“I know what you mean.” Viktor agrees, sitting upright as he pulls Yuuri into his lap, “But we’ll have all the time in the world for Makka when we get back.” It’s a silent promise beyond simply that— a promise of everything and more to come. Viktor, Yuuri believes, is always so good at seeing the positives, it helps to balance him out with his anxiety. He makes a mental note to add this to his new list.

In the span of five minutes, where neither do anything but enjoy the other’s presence, the phone buzzes twice more unnoticed. It’s assumed that Phichit has sent more photos, as his duty to keep the couple updated on news and the like. That phone would be their only form of communication with the rest of the world for the remainder of their honeymoon, so that Viktor and Yuuri could devote themselves to each other and no one else.

It had meant less time for family and friends to call, or for one to get distracted with their phone, but it had also made certain that they weren’t going to forget the promises they’d made to each other.

The phone buzzes again.

“Do you think that if we arrive early it’d be too much trouble for your parents?” Viktor wonders aloud. Yuuri smiles at the anticipation practically radiating off of him – he knows just how much Viktor loves the Onsen, and just how happy his family makes him. Not to mention the incredible food his mother makes, he too is also excited to visit.

“I mean, it doesn’t hurt to ask.” Yuuri shrugs, reaching across his _husband_ – there’s the magical word again, to grab for the phone.

The screen flickers to life on touch, an old model considering they’d only need it for the duration of a couple weeks, but its light is still so obnoxiously blinding anyway. The battery is drained almost completely, the lack of use meaning they’d not put into practice a charging schedule, but it’s the three notifications that make Yuuri pause with a frown.

Viktor peers at the screen, also piqued with curiosity as he reads the scramble of kanji the first text presents. It’s from Mari, Yuuri’s older sister, and practically confirms the question they’d had before even being able to ask it. “Guests cleared early, feel free to come whenever.”

The second text is merely another picture of Phichit and Makkachin, this time the pair squished together on the sofa, and it almost makes the pair smile. Almost.

It feels heavy in his hands now, like a block of lead, as Yuuri unlocks the phone to read the final message clearly. It’s a notification for a missed call, and it’s from a number that gets both Yuuri and Viktor to exchange a look of concern.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well there's another chapter - I'm open to all constructive criticism in the comments!  
> See you all next weekend!  
> (This story is not beta read!)


	3. Changes and New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The places they’d both hoped would support them in their time of need, repaying them for the dedication they’d given their birthplaces, had turned their backs on them, leaving them stranded with nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh, another chapter for you people! I'm trying my best to be a little unpredictable but anyways.
> 
> I'm also gradually progressing with the amount of writing that appears in each chapter, so this will mean that I'll eventually only be posting once a week instead of twice - hopefully quality over quantity balances that out though.

It’s hard to live in a world that’s not entirely perfect and then admonishes those who have only tried to help. Okay, maybe a little more than “not entirely perfect” but it’s not a fact that can be argued upon. It’s also painful, because there are just so many things that are out of the control of a simple person, there’s so many rules to be allowed to feel free and supported – there’s too many consequences and chances that have to be played in order to have a shot at a gamble.

Life and the world are unfair, and unfortunately Viktor and Yuuri are all too aware of this.

Russia may be beautiful, but deep down it’s rather ugly, hiding the extremities of its laws with the beauties of its landscapes. Viktor would know, he’d grown up observing the odd façade, had lived through the changes of the country he’d called home. Unfortunately, while once St Petersburg had been enough, when he’d been going through the motions every day, it now was no more and never would be anything to him again.

Japan was beautiful, perhaps too beautiful with the Sakura trees and the cherry blossoms once bloomed. It was a selfish beauty no other country was allowed to touch, and that was the gift the people received for staying loyal to the land. But this land was neither what Yuuri wanted or could have, and so he too knew that a change would have to be made.

They’d exhausted all their options, there was _nothing_ left. The places they’d both hoped would support them in their time of need, repaying them for the dedication they’d given their birthplaces, had turned their backs on them, leaving them stranded with nothing.

It hadn’t been fair, but Viktor and Yuuri were okay with that – they had to be.

The shock that the missed phone call had brought shouldn’t have been so bad. They’d been warned that the outcome was guaranteed, a price to pay for love, and yet as they sit in their silence, trying to figure out _what to do next_ , the reality of the situation is one that settles in slowly.

Yuuri is the first to speak, having ended the call with the agency mere minutes before. He promised he wouldn’t cry, despite the years trying now gone to waste. _Oh well_ , he tries to reassure himself _, two years out of a lifetime is only a fraction of a second if you think about it._

“What now?”

Viktor sighs deeply and hates it. Their honeymoon was supposed to be about _them_ , and now it was about how their countries had failed them both. “I don’t know… I honestly wish there could have been better timing…”

“We can’t control those sorts of things.” Yuuri hugs him tightly, offering a melancholic form of support. “But I have been thinking about the ‘what ifs’… and I do have a few ideas if you’re dead set on this…”

Viktor peers down at Yuuri’s uncertain face as the Japanese man looks up. He has nothing else to lose, and he _really_ wants this with Yuuri, so he swallows the lump in his throat, the pain of rejection he’d been anticipating, and nods for him to continue. “Yes.” He simply says. He doesn’t trust his voice with anything more.

Yuuri shifts his attention back towards their phone, tapping lightly at the screen. “These countries have legalised LGBT marriages and related laws…“ The list isn’t very extensive, but Viktor begins to see where Yuuri is going. “I know that we do have a _Symbolic Partnership Certificate_ since it’s the closest thing to a marriage certificate that we’d get between Russia and Japan’s laws… but if we were to move to one of these countries…”

“We’d be able to get our marriage legalised completely.” Viktor finishes, eyes scanning the list. “And then we could go through the system there.”

“It’s a lot to think about… especially since we’d both lose our citizenships respectfully… but I was thinking, if one of us is already going to lose the citizenship from one country, why don’t we just both do it and go somewhere we are accepted?”

It’s all very last minute thoughts, spewed out as a temporary bandage for the pain the adoption agencies have given them, but at the same time it almost seems like a sign to pursue something new. Viktor interlocks his fingers with Yuuri’s, and it helps them both keep their ground.

“ _Lapochka_ —” Viktor begins, choking up on unsaid words as he tries to say what’s on his mind. “ _Da! Da, da, da!”_ ‘Yes!’ he’s saying, and the excitement in his eyes has returned. “We should! After our honeymoon! We’ll move to another country and get our marriage legalized and become citizens and then finally have the family we have always dreamed of and—“

Yuuri’s face blossoms red as he listens to Viktor ramble with the new found hope for the future. He knows it’s a long way away, and he knows that by choosing this route, they’d have to say goodbye to a lot of things and people they hold dear. Hell, they’d no longer be able to consider themselves Russia and Japan’s Top Men’s Figure Skaters of the World, and lose more than they’d gain with the International Skating Union as Yuri Plisetsky’s new coaches for the year after’s season.

Yes, the world truly is a cruel place, barely taking a rest before another is lured in. It’s terrible, it’s unfair, but most importantly it’s something Viktor and Yuuri have dealt with since the moment they were born, and it’d be something that’d linger till the day they took their last breath. The only difference is that now they have each other, and now they are brave.

 

* * *

 

 

Yuri isn’t as brave as he looks, and he wants to curse at himself, his parents, _someone_ for being the way that he is. He knows that there’s no point in pointing fingers, as much as the pun bothers him; _Only Viktor would say something that stupid_ , he reasons, but finds that if he doesn’t, the only conclusion can be him.

Yuri doesn’t want the problem to be him, he doesn’t want anything to be wrong. Perhaps if he simply pretended that everything was okay, things would eventually go back to the way things were. Viktor would return to the ice, Yuuri would stay in Japan and he would be practicing back in Russia or visiting his very much alive grandfather. Maybe, just _maybe_ , Otabek and he could continue their friendship as if he hadn’t just up and left him without warning, most likely destroying the fraying thing in the process.

He pulls his Team Russia sports jacket tighter around his thin frame. He doesn’t want to think, he wants to get away, and so away he went, purchasing the first ticket to the first flight available out of the country. He doesn’t even know where he’s headed for, or perhaps he does but has simply chosen to not remember – it doesn’t matter regardless, there’s too much in his head and he needs to get it out.

The international airport is buzzing with people of all races, ages and size. Yuri sticks to the walls, keeping his head low and praying for the first time in his life that no one recognises him. He really regrets not bringing another jacket, preferably one that doesn’t spell out “Russian Ice Skater” in flashy white, blue and red, but there isn’t much else he can do now except check his phone for his flight time—

He left behind his phone.

Shaking his head to clear the frustrated tears that have begun to form, because Yuri Plisetsky _does not cry,_ he takes a glance at the giant billboard above the various terminals. His ticket reads _Gate 26_ a and that’s all he pays attention to as he scans his surroundings for any sign of a flight schedule. It’s thankfully very obvious and very Russian, indicating that the flight is boarding in twenty minutes, so Yuri walks over with his carry-on bag, small and practically empty besides his wallet and passport inside.

He sits down, secluded from the other passengers, and stares out the giant window to his left. The people below look _tiny_ and he can remember a similar thought in the form of a memory when he was younger.

_Are the people born really tiny Dedushka? They’re like ants!_ His grandfather had simply laughed at his curiosity before explaining the distance’s effect to the human eye. He could remember as the time slipped by while staring outside, his grandfather had grown progressively quieter until the inevitable had arrived. Yuri had left Moscow for St Petersburg to begin his new journey as a competitive Figure Skater under Yakov.

The memory surges to the front of Yuri’s mind, beating his tear ducts for tears that refuse to fall. It’s been almost an entire year since his _Dedushka_ had passed and while he had his moments of weakness then, Yuri refuses to have it now. He tries to focus on the planes instead, a failing attempt at distraction. He’s tired, and angry and fearful, desperately trying to pinpoint who was at fault for the way he is. Who was responsible for Yuri Plisetsky’s inability to be brave?

It’s not him, he’s not the reason and he refuses to believe old words from a long gone old hag. _She_ isn’t in his life anymore and so he shouldn’t have to worry, but his problem with Otabek has nothing, or rather _everything_ to do with _her_ and it drives the blonde teen insane.

The gates are opened and the captain stands beside an air hostess, whose wearing the traditional Kazakh uniform. She’s smiling besides the middle aged man, announcing that the plane to fuck-knows-where is boarding first-class. Yuri stands up quickly and hands her his ticket and passport, and relishes in the surprise both express when a teenager boards the expensive side of a plane alone.

Yuri strolls down the walkway nonchalantly, gaining a sense of understanding for Viktor’s obsession with surprising his audience with his programs. Quickly, the man 13 times his senior is forgotten, because Yuri remembers he’s on his honeymoon and he doesn’t want to deal with another’s lovey-dovey gross stuff now. He will however, take a page out of the retired skater’s book, and chooses to leave the destination of his flight a mystery, because oh, how much he _loves_ a surprise.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I appreciate any feedback, comments and criticism, it is the only way we can go further than our own capabilities after all! I would say learn, but some people teach themselves things so I guess a second opinion is handy!
> 
> (This story isn't beta read!)


	4. Missing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Usually, Otabek would find it strange as to why the two divorcees were sharing a space, but he knows Lilia cares about Yuri just as much as Yakov and Mila and Georgi, so he doesn’t comment on the situation as the poised woman’s ruler straight back all but crumples under pressure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, 2000 ish words? Almost double since the first chapter! I know I should be considering the story and not the numeric value of the words, but sometimes I just have to keep track to see where I'm going? I don't know.
> 
> I'd usually write more but I've just been so busy and in on my head, I think I need to actually go outside lmao.

Otabek stares at Yakov expectantly, waiting for him to speak. He’s been patient – patient as he called the airport, patience as he drove around as a one man manhunt, patient as he booked and boarded a flight to St Petersburg, patient. He’s been patient. 5 days too patient, he thinks, and now they’ve no choice but to involve the Figure Skating World’s power couple. He’s taken the earliest flight to St Petersburg, much to Yakov’s protests, but now the older man can see just how much Yuri’s disappearance has affected him, and he feels bad for constantly pushing the skater away.

“Are you _sure_ you couldn’t get any answer from border security—“

“Nothing.” Yakov sighs, Lilia Baranovskaya sitting beside him with a frown. Usually, Otabek would find it strange as to why the two divorcees were sharing a space, but he knows Lilia cares about Yuri just as much as Yakov and Mila and Georgi, so he doesn’t comment on the situation as the poised woman’s ruler straight back all but crumples under pressure.

Otabek starts to wonder when the police would actually get involved, and not wave off the disappearance of a teenager like nothing. “ _Happens all the time.”_ They’d said, “ _If He doesn’t return home in a week, we’ll look into it a bit more, but for now he’s probably just stressed.”_ Otabek had never been a violent person despite the stoic façade, but the temptation to punch the officer taking their report had definitely become an entertaining thought.

Lilia most of all had not been pleased, her heels echoing as she stalked off with the grace she claimed to possessed. “ _Ridiculous!”_ She’d accused, a shake of her head following, “ _A child is missing and you think he’ll be safe in another country!”_ Yakov and Otabek could only shoot the young man equally threatening glares, trailing behind the woman as she left the building. “ _Utterly ridiculous!”_

Their quest in search of Yuri had almost ended once every possible trail burned out to a dead end. Alone, there was very little that three people could do, especially with the lack of authority. Of course, the ISU would surely have been able to do something in regards to the situation, but it had been mutually agreed to not involve them until their week was up. If the International Skating Union caught wind of a missing skater, the news would be all over every tabloid for weeks.

That didn’t mean that the other champions of the figure skating world didn’t know of course.

Otabek barely flinches as a loud bang echoes from the front of the room and Yakov’s head merely turns to eye it expectantly, as if used to others barging into rooms he were presently vacating. Lilia had however jumped, frowning in disapproval and clearly not accustomed to such unruly dancers. Otabek could see her contemplating whether or not to admonish the rude arrivals. She remained silent.

From the doorway, the familiar lean figure of Georgi enters the room, red faced and sweating. His face had contorted into a frown, and as he steps inside, Mila in all her curly red haired glory follows after. “We’re here.” Georgi announces, looking at the woman expectantly. “Someone took a little long finding her girlfriend’s passport.” Mila rolls her eyes and punches the man freely, turning behind her to make space for two other newcomers that had not been noticed before.

Behind Mila is her girlfriend Sara, and behind Sara is who Otabek vaguely recalls as her twin brother Michele. They’re both worried as evident by their facial expressions, and soon enough, there are more skaters piling into the cramped space of Lilia’s ballet studio.

“We all came as soon as we heard.” Christophe Giacometti pants, wiping sweat from his brow, face flushed in a similar fashion to the others, “Does Viktor and Yuuri know?”

“Nyet.” Otabek says hesitantly, eyes trailing the Swiss’ crumbling posture. He looks as if he’s just run up the three flights of stairs instead of taking the elevator like any normal person, and judging by Phichit’s sudden entrance into the room, the Thai skater had followed in pursuit.

A dog’s bark fills the air and everyone turns to see Makkachin trot in behind. “Elevator broke –“ He wheezes, ironically sounding rather unfit for a competitive skater, “Is it true? What Christophe said? Yuri Plisetsky has disappeared?” The comment causes an uproar of skaters beginning to converse loudly, and a headache begins to form in the recesses of Otabek’s brain as a result. Thankfully, Lilia has enough common sense and claps her hands loudly, effectively shutting up the discord among them.

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen a more perturbed Lilia in his life, but then again, Otabek has only seen her a handful of times in the past.

“We’re about to ask Yuuri and Viktor, but don’t get your hopes up.” Come the prima ballerina’s sharp words, “With what Altin has told us, he and Yuri had an argument and is currently seeking refuge alone.”

“In another _country_?!” Mila exclaims exasperatedly, “And they won’t tell us because it breeches _privacy?!”_

“How can you even be sure he’s seeking refuge alone?” Sara pipes up, and the others around her nod in agreement.

“Because.” Yakov sighs with a frown, “We have been coaching Yuri for years and know him best.”

“Exactly.” There’s almost a certainty to her words that makes Otabek want to recoil and forget about even trying to contact Katsuki and Nikiforov. “Yuri acts tough, but he’s a child, idiotic at best. If Viktor decided to run off to Japan at 27, imagine the capabilities of teenager and a full bank account.”

It’s scary to admit, but Lilia has a point, and even as Yakov presses a finger to his lips and another to the dial button of his phone, Otabek can already imagine how such a call would go. The couple saw Yuri as a son, even if it had never been explicitly stated before. This was just trivial knowledge among the skating community at this point, despite the only one seemingly oblivious to the fact being the child in question. Perhaps it had something to do with not being able to have their own, and Yuri was simply _there_ and in need of parents like the perfect match made possible. Whatever the reason, no one could argue that Yuuri and Viktor _loved_ Yuri, and despite his constant denial, they were sure that Yuri looked up to them too.

Otabek had never considered children, he was gay after all, lived in a country that still lacked acceptance for ideas and the like, and he’d figured it wasn’t something he’d be interested in anyway. He couldn’t possibly comprehend the panic for a missing son that he was sure the pair would feel, unless Yuri _was_ somehow with them and they’d decided to not tell, but something told him that simply wasn’t the case.

The phone rings three times, and it’s the longest three rings any of the skaters or coaches had ever experienced. There’s really nothing to anticipate, it’s almost a guarantee that the teenager isn’t there with them, so maybe it’s the idea of finally telling his “Parents” that their child is missing that scares them most.

The phone picks up and it’s the most deafening silence Otabek has ever heard.

“Hmm?” Comes the murmured call of Viktor’s voice, laced with a heavy dose of sleep. It doesn’t dawn on him until then, or any other skater for that matter, until Phichit let’s slip a curse and points to his phone’s world clock, ticking for both St Petersburg and Hasetsu in comparison. The faces of each read a different time, separated by six hours in difference. It was merely 6 in the evening for them, a time of which the sun had begun to set and the sky was blending into the soft yellows and pinks of night, but Hasetsu had already experienced that, which placed Yuuri and Viktor right in the middle of the night.

Yakov seems to realise this a tad too late, face cringing as he clears his throat. “Vitya, sorry to wake you but this is important.” He says his words slowly, voice tinted with the utmost care. It’s as if he is another man, a dead giveaway that something is seriously wrong, and everyone can almost hear Viktor waking up to process his ex-coaches’ words, like he _knew_ just as much as any other, that Yakov was not ok. “I know, you’re on your Honeymoon and we apologise… please wake up your husband too, he needs to hear this.”

“Yuuri?” Viktor asks, pausing, “Uh sure, lemme just… wait— everyone?” There’s shuffling and mumbling on the other end, and eventually Yuuri can be heard yawning.

“ _Da_ , Lilia, Mila, Georgi, the Crispino twins, Altin, Yuuri’s friend Chulanont and Giacometti, we’re all here.”

There’s a pause that catches Yuuri whispering something in Japanese before Viktor speaks up again. “Well, admittedly it _is_ midnight, but this is quite the pleasant surprise!” Viktor exclaims, “How is everyone? A little disappointed Yuri isn’t there, but—“

“That’s why we’re calling you.” Lilia cuts in, no slow consideration for her words. Best to be swift with these things, especially since time is of the essence. “Have you heard from Yuri?”

There’s a deathly silence as the background noises from Hasetsu are carried across the conversation. It’s quiet over there too, and everything is suddenly all too _wrong_.

“No…” Yuuri almost dares to say, sucking a deep breath as he follows through with his question. “Why? Is everything alright?”

“ _Nyet_.” Yakov sighs. A dead end, just as they’d foreseen, “He’s run off somewhere, we’re trying to find out which country—“

“Yurochka left the _country_?!” Viktor’s voice is strained.

“It’s a long story.” Otabek decides to speak up. He feels responsible for the situation so it’s only right he makes a promise to fix it. “We’ll find him, we just wanted to check in case he’d arrived in Hasetsu.”

“When did he disappear?!” Out of all the questions he could have asked, Yuuri only seemed to be asking the ones with the worst answer possible. It was understandable, he was worried, just as they all were, but the guilt that the Kazakh felt was only increasing the longer the phone call progressed.

“5 days ago.” Yakov grits out guiltily, “But Viktor, don’t worry about Yurochka, we’ll find him. He’s stubborn and couldn’t have gone far so Yuuri and you just go enjoy your—“

“Yakov!” Yuuri cuts off the older man with such determination it’s scary. In fact, Yuuri raising his voice is scary, terrifying even, and it dawns on the group of skaters that they’d never known this because Yuuri _doesn’t yell_. They hear him take a deep breath, most likely to recompose himself, before he’s talking fluidly once more, a shaking edge to his tone. “Viktor and I are going to help, we will continue our Honeymoon another time.” There’s no room for discussion as Viktor follows through with his husband’s announcement.

“Exactly. If something happens to Yura, we’d never forgive ourselves. I don’t think either of us could focus on the honeymoon with him missing – no, I know we can’t.” The skaters around the room nod, despite knowing they can’t be seen. “We’ll start looking into flights from 5 days ago, see if we can push them into telling us anything… if not, we’ll have to visit each country, see if people recognise him… perhaps even see if he’s cropped up anywhere on social media.”

Otabek is no longer paying attention to whatever inspirational speech Viktor is giving, he’s just worried and fearful and terrified for Yuri and anything that could happen to him. He feels bile rise in his throat as he swallows the nausea down, he doesn’t want to think the worst case scenario, he doesn’t want to be in this situation, but then he remembers Yuri’s face when they’d talked, and how he’d brushed everything off as merely nothing.

He should have known it was a mask.

Otabek knows he feels guilty, knows he’s at fault, because if anything happens to the Russian skater, he was the reason Yuri had stormed off in the first place.

“We’re gonna find him.” Viktor’s voice fills his ears once more, and Otabek is glad he chose to tune in for the final, inspirational push, “We have to, and when we do, he’ll be ok.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap!
> 
> So I'm going to go ice skating today and I'm rather excited! It's something I do when I'm stressed in a fashion similar to Yuuri except I'm not a competitive skater and it's during public sessions. It's also one of the reasons why I love YOI so much! There's actual characters I can relate to even if people think I'm just copying them. I'm not but oh well, let em think whatever.
> 
> Anyways, hopefully a little break from things helps me get back into writing even more, like i said earlier, i have some chapters already queued up but I'd like to write some more!
> 
> Feel free to comment, critique and all that pizzazz, I'm always happy to hear feedback!
> 
> (This story is not beta read!)


	5. And Then There Were Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mari drops the last of the serviettes before wordlessly moving across the room to close the paper dividing the two rooms. She knows fully well that the door would offer very little as a sound barrier but hopes that it encourages the other to thinking about something else.  
> It doesn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if i'll be uploading another chapter tomorrow, I'll see how I go but things have started to get a little hectic for me so my schedule may be harder to achieve. And lookie! We've hit the 2.5K word mark! Like I said before, word count doesn't really bother me but it is nice to see that this story is progressing.
> 
> Also I'm sick right now so that's fun.

 

“No mama, they haven’t given us anything else.” Yuuri’s voice echoes from the kitchen as he hastily cleans the work space up. The night before had left both Viktor and him restless, worrying, and above all lost. It had only been when daylight finally breached around 5 in the morning that they’d been able to do anything more without the concern of waking up the rest of Yuuri’s family as they prepared the kitchen for the Onsen’s guests.

Viktor stands still, eyes ghosting over the dining room as he absentmindedly places the silverware down. His eyes are looking elsewhere as he completes the routine, going through the motions like the hands upon a clock. Mari stands beside him with cloth serviettes in hand, slowly placing them down after the man, but she’s not focused on preparation as much as she’s observing her brother in law.

“They’d refused to tell us which plane…” he hears Yuuri explain.

They share a few more seconds in silence, listening in on the conversation intently as if the answer was somewhere there, before the older Katsuki decides that enough is enough. Mari drops the last of the serviettes before wordlessly moving across the room to close the paper dividing the two rooms. She knows fully well that the door would offer very little as a sound barrier but hopes that it encourages the other to think about something else.

It doesn’t.

Viktor only blanches, staring at the divider longingly as his fear noticeably increases. Mari sighs, a mixture of understanding and frustration for the Russian beside her, knowing just how a spiralling mind could be. She _was_ Yuuri’s sister, after all. “Viktor,” she says, voice soft yet stern, “stop, you need to snap out of it.”

He doesn’t realise he’s pacing until he feels the Japanese woman’s hand on his shoulder, rooting him to the spot. The sudden lack of movement feels disturbing, like he’s supposed to be doing _something_ and standing still does not contribute to his rate of productivity. He’s forced to his knees, and in another more lighter time, he’d joke about the insinuations of such actions as Mari slaps him on the back for being stupid – in that playful, sisterly banter sort of way. He doesn’t this time, and instead complies, nodding feebly in response.

“You’re worried and I get it. _I’m_ worried. So is Yuuko, Yuuri, Mama and Papa. We’re all worried about Yurio.” She uses the nickname she’d given the teen the last time he’d been in Hasetsu, and Viktor almost cracks a smile, wanting to point out how funny it’d have been if Yuri had heard her. “You’ve got something, the list of flights that left that day, and thanks to that Kazakh skater guy, we know roughly what time slots we’re looking at.”

“And our help, don’t forget that.” Hiroko adds, following Yuuri into the room. As Yuuri’s mother, Viktor can see so clearly where he gets the sweet, innocent appeal from – the short woman practically _radiates_ hope.

“Thank you Mama Katsuki.” Viktor says softly and he’s grateful for the family surrounding him. Viktor didn’t like to dwell on the past, he’d rather live in the present for the future, but Hiroko’s motherly nature had found a way to show him just how much he’d missed out on while skating. Once he’d told Yuuri this, it’d become the personal mission of each Katsuki to make him feel as much love as possible, to compensate for what was lost. Now that Viktor was responsible for his own, much smaller family, he knew that he wanted to provide only the same for their Yuri.

His hand instinctively reaches for the emergency phone that rests beside his own personal one on the table. It had been returned to them immediately after the events of the night before, where Mari had awoken to find the newlyweds on the brink of hysterics. They could only be thankful that they’d entrusted their phones to the Katsuki family instead of one of their friends as they’d originally suggested. _“If it’s in another country, there’s way less temptation!”_ had been Phichit’s logic, which clearly would have been problematic had they agreed.

The phone’s screen lacks notifications which does nothing to settle the tension.

Viktor knew he shouldn’t have expected more; it had been the exact same outcome every time he looked, and even Yuuri’s phone was no longer pinging with updates from Phichit. It didn’t stop the feeling of disappointment however, like a torturing device specifically designed to destroy his hope, even if he was aware of the odds for any major updates from Russia.

Asides from periodic phone checks, that morning while serving the Onsen’s guests, had been spent filling in the remainder of Yuuri’s family and friends as to what had happened, and enlisting their help to try and narrow down the potential flights that could be their lead to Yuri. It was stressful to go over the details again, and as a result, they’d receive the promise that everyone would spend every minute possible trying to locate the missing child.

Because while Yuri was part of Yuuri and Viktor’s small family, the rest of the Katsukis, both blood and honorary, were his family too and they’d be damned if something happened to one of their own.

Yuuko Nishigori was Yuuri’s childhood friend, and an inspiration to him when he was younger. She was rather bright and bubbly, and almost _too_ excitable when it came to her friends and skating, but you couldn’t deny that there was something about her that was mesmerising, drawing you into her circle as you came closer. Somehow this aura had made no exception for Yuri when he’d tailed Viktor the first time they’d visited the Ice Castle, and so she had managed to land herself the privilege of getting into the teen’s good books.

They didn’t text often, perhaps once a week if their schedules allowed it, but she was the second closest thing Yuri had had that could resemble a respectable acquaintanceship. So when the news had been broken to her over the phone, Yuuko immediately began to monitor as many of the social networking platforms as she possibly could with her own family.

Her triplet daughters Axel, Lutz and Loop were rather remarkable media influences after all and it’d be silly to not go to the experts in celebrity gossip. At just the tender age of 7, they’d become as equally popular as Phichit Chulanont, who had been considered the “King of Social Media” by many. And on top of that, it’d been rumoured that he’d made the girls his protégés in turn. So they, along with the Thai skater, had spent their hours awake, keeping an eye out for any mention of a certain Yuri Plisetsky.

As for the others, Yuuri had felt a sense of relief from all the skaters and friends who were willing to offer help and support. It helped stabilises him, remind him that Viktor and he are not alone and that Yuri will be found quickly.

In a moment of doubt, he’d wondered if the scenario could have been avoided if he’d changed something, like it was his fault and this was some form of punishment from a god, for not paying more attention. It was a terrible thing to blame oneself for, but Mari had been quick to pull him out of that dark hole before it could swallow him whole, simply reminding him that Nikolai Plisetsky had trusted that Viktor and he would always look out for Yuri once he was gone. That trust was something that proved he was not incompetent, and Yuuri doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the way such a kind man thanked them for supporting their Yurochka.

Any lingering fears and concerns are quickly destroyed by Yuuri’s mother, a woman who’d cared for her children and could tell when one of them was troubled; Viktor included. Sometimes, the Russian would struggle to accept such welcome into the family, and the few times he was told that he needn’t be, he’d end up crying. But, just with all her children, brown hair, silver, and even gold too, she knew how to make each and everyone one of them feel better.

“Vicchan, how about we begin to look over the list of flights?” Hiroko says lightly, beckoning for Yuuri to retrieve the list. The simple task of reading would be engaging enough to keep them focused, while Mari began to review the other lists that were being overviewed by the others. The paper list had been rather short; the woman on the phone had claimed that a number of flights had been cancelled that day, too which Viktor had dutifully called out the airline Aeroflot for being “stupid pieces of shit”. Whatever grudge that the man had for the company was certainly not going away any time soon.

Yuuri almost felt bad. Almost.

Yuri’s emancipation had only made things more difficult, permitting him the freedom of any grown man at such a tender age. This unfortunately meant that he also had total control over his privacy and information, locking anyone out but the people he’d permit. Of course, that meant no one but himself.

“These are the first 10 flights that left after Otabek claimed Yuri had disappeared. The time frame was narrow considering it was the middle of the day, so it’s safe to say that whatever flight he took is somewhere between 1pm and 3.” Mari explains, a hand waving over the airline and destinations. “The others are currently combing over the other 40 flights, mainly around the 3pm mark.”

Viktor nods as he skims the paper, Yuuri’s neat English printed on the surface for everyone to read. “And we know he went to the airport how?”

“It was apparently a theory.” Yuuri says slowly, pulling up a global map on his phone, “Yakov was tipped off hours later that he’d been seen at the airport by one of the guys at border security who he knew… after that they couldn’t say more.” They grow silent as Viktor eyes the countries, each with a taste of disliking.

Tokyo Japan, Manila Philippines, Shanghai China, California USA, Florida USA, San Francisco USA, Sydney Australia, Rome Italy, Moscow Russia and St Petersburg.

Viktor lets out a heavy sigh as Yuuri pins each location on the map, immediately crossing out St Petersburg with a strained smile. Hiroko watches after them all before calling to her husband to start breakfast, she too, a little lost as to where next they’d need to go. The eldest Katsuki child reapproaches her brothers with a firm pat to their backs.

“Well…” Mari nods, “One down, 9 to go.”

* * *

 

Phichit combs every hashtag that possibly exists in relation to ice skating, Yuuri Katsuki, Viktor Nikiforov and Yuri Plisetsky, even daring to dive into the deepest hells of _#yuurixyurixviktor_. He finds nothing, except a few cute edited photos of the ‘podium family’ as the skating world had dubbed them, and of course the obligatory racy porn that really _shouldn’t_ be drawn of his friends. They’d laughed once about the proportions they’d been given, even going so far to comment on how detrimental some of the anatomy the drawings were equipped with could be to their skating careers. It’d been all fun and games, but right now it was simply disgusting.

“ _Mon Cherie_ , any luck?” Christophe looks over the Thai skater’s laptop, eyes furrowing in confusion. He sees the fanart but makes no comment on it, instead returning to the scramble of words assigned to them both. “This list is going to take forever!” His voice drips drama, but the actuality of the situation means that it’s anything but, and Chris knows just how important his list of 5 countries are.

They’d each broken up into teams of two, with Otabek joining Yakov and Lilia as a team of three, collecting the other 40 countries after Viktor and Yuuri’s list before spreading their search out effectively. Currently, as Chris and Phichit worked together in the small hotel room they’d hastily booked, the five places that had been scheduled to leave between 1:30 and 2 had offered very little for them both.

The Thai man shakes his head with a grimace, an instant messenger tab opened besides the Instagram tabs. Chris doesn’t poke fun at the obscenity on social media like he normally would, reading over the other’s shoulder instead. “Yuuko Nishigori?” He reads out, eyebrows raised.

“Yuuri’s _other_ best friend, besides me of course.” There’s a faint trace of pride in the young man’s voice. “She and Yuri Plisetsky were kinda friends when he’d visited last year. That, and her triplets are my protégés of the social media world, this is a group chat for all of us as we scavenge the World Wide Web.”

The explanation had made sense, or at least Chris had hoped so, as he sighs and stretches with a flourish. “This is honestly so stupid.” He shakes his head, “ _Dîtes-moi_ , tell me, what do you think got the Ice Fairy of Russia all worked up hmm? Must have been bad to send him packing.”

Phichit pauses his typing to stare at the Swiss skater, a face of apprehension slowly shifting into curiosity. “Maybe he argued with Altin?” He suggested, “He did mention how he’d said something… I don’t know… I guess we’ll find out when we find him.”

“When?” The question sounded incredulous. “Phichit, I don’t mean to sound depressing, but have you seen this list? They’re most certainly… concerning countries to visit with their current uh… predicaments at the moment.” They both know what he means and they both only hope that the others don’t have a similar list to themselves, otherwise there’d be an even bigger difficulty getting the teenager out of a country most of them weren’t allowed _in_. That didn’t even cover the concept that Yuri would also have to be _alive_.

Phichit returns to his typing, mind clearly occupied by the disturbing ideas Chris left behind. He didn’t want to think about such terrible things, especially with how Yuri had wormed his way into all their hearts, so he rubs his face tiredly and opts to distract them both with his latest idea. “Let’s try and not focus about that then.” Phichit decides slowly, rotating the laptop to face his friend. “How about I show you this new algorithm I’ve developed instead. I sent it over to the Nishigoris as well but basically, it’s got enough power to alert me of _any_ mentions of Yuri across Twitter, Tumblr, Instagram and even Facebook, that ancient thing! It searches for specific captions and tags, and can recognise Yuri’s face in every picture he’s in whether it’s the front or back of his head…”

Chris marvels at the syntax without a clue for what it all means. He probably understood three words of that explanation, and the names of the media platforms he used in addition. But Phichit has a look of determination set across his face, so he sculpts a brave one for himself to feel better too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that there isn't any first person perspectives in the this story, I honestly find that a little hard to write. Usually I aim for second or third person omniscient narrative so hopefully the various jump curts aren't hectic and sort of flow together. I try to make it linear but occasional they do fall non linear.
> 
> Anyways, as always, I appreciate any feedback or comments!
> 
> (This story is not beta read!)


	6. Golden Excuses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was dumb, his problem. If he needed time away then he needed time away. It wasn’t like it was the middle of a season or a new one’s beginning like when Viktor had left for Hasetsu, it wasn’t like Yuri had run off in infatuation. He was merely clearing his head, because he’d only get so much time left for that before the Grand Prix dragged him back into practise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've just finished writing Chapter 9 - and oh boy, these chapters are progressively getting longer!  
> Hopefully I can keep you interested in the scenery without giving away just yet where he is? And I mean, there's a little angst but our dear Yuri is still to far in denial to even consider wanting to deal with anything.
> 
> I will give you a slight spoiler though - next week things take a much more drastic turn!

There’s something invigorating about being in a new place, however, for the life of him, Yuri can’t figure out _why_ there’s a place called “China Town” in a country that’s most certainly not China. He wants to call it cultural appropriation, or maybe racism, but knows that these words don’t fit the odd feeling he’s getting in his stomach. Perhaps it was simply because he’s been to China, and this tiny street barely does the actual place any justice.

He brushes the concept off as he explores, and in turn, sticks out like a sore thumb.

Of course there are others of mixed ethnicities surrounding him, definitely more than there had ever been in Hasetsu, but it wasn’t anywhere near enough to be considered consistent. His only concern in the moment is being recognised – one wrong move and his location would be exposed for the world to track and locate him. For the Ice Skating World to pin him.

Most of the stores he passes are restaurants with their front doors wide open. The rest were brick walls, with no windows and the occasional mysterious staircase that’d lead to another floor. There was only one building that had a glass front, and it immediately captures the Ice Tiger of Russia’s interest.

He pauses outside, and he finds his eyes anchoring onto the vibrant colours within the building. Yuri isn’t one for meddling around, he refuses to “beat around the bush” as the strange english saying went. He thinks he uses it correctly – at least that’s how Yuuri had, and who knew the weird language of the western species better than the man who’d lived among the creatures themselves.

He could certainly see the appeal in such people now.

So he boldly backtracks. Where one would feel embarrassed to be walking back from where they’d come, Yuri holds his head high, searching for the front door and pushing it open. He doesn’t spare a single glance to what store exactly it is he’s entering until the strong smell hits him in the nose and the sound of hairdryers reach his ears.

He still decides that he’d rather pelt the mysterious head of colours with questions rather than shamefully walk out, even if the middle aged women and their teenage daughters ogle after him. He’s used to all sorts of stares by now, _especially_ from teenage girls, so even if it’s not because he’s a famous figure skater and instead because he’s a _boy_ in a _girl’s salon_ , Yuri marches through the front like he owns the place and makes his presence clear to his objective.

His objective turns around, the full frenzy of colours flying as she twizzles on the spot, surprised by the rather intimidating teen that towers above her. The woman beside her, perhaps her boss, simply raises an eyebrow, and folds her arms as she gestures for ‘Objective’ to take initiative.

“Yes?” She asks, and it almost throws him off guard. The word is phrased as a question and lacks the intimidation ‘Yuri’s Angels’ would feel after being in the presence of someone they admired so much. It was an oddly comforting change, something that Yuri hadn’t realised he’d never experienced, so he addresses her how he addresses anyone with respect; like an asshole.

“What did you do to your hair?” He begins, in his totally charming, Yuri Plisetsky way. He’s forward, and while any other girl would take great offense to a random teenager questioning their style choices, ‘Objective’ only seems to quirk up a smile.

“Why? Like it? Miss Balensky here thinks it’s absolute teenager trash.” The woman beside her tuts, shaking her head in disapproval as if to prove ‘Objective’s’ point. Yuri recognises this look all too much, having seen the same pout and crossed arms on Viktor’s figure as he reprimands him for risky jump choreography. He had all but expected the woman to give in to ‘Objective’.

“So one other likes it.” The woman says, almost scoffing at the idea, “And yet it’s the only customer who doesn’t fit our targeted audience.” She vaguely gestures to the mothers and daughters, who were no longer paying attention to the only male present. Instead they were all whispering, sharing their secrets and opinions through a game of ‘Chinese Whispers’ and using the standing hairstylists as their mode of transport.

Yuri was 100% certain that they were judging him, if there was anything Mila had taught him, it was that girls were a bitch, and they in turn, would bitch – with very few exceptions of course because Yuri wasn’t completely crude, some girls _were_ nice. These ones didn’t do any good to prove _that_ point though.

“Well maybe you should change that.” Yuri simply shrugs, as if the solution were so simple. “But I really couldn’t care less about this business, I’m here because I saw your hair and I had questions.”

‘Objective’ and Miss Balensky exchange a look, communicating _something_ that Yuri could only struggle to decipher. After a moment the woman sighs like she’s lost the silent battle, and steps aside with a wave of a hand towards the back of the room. “Free consultations, you know the rules...” She says slowly, a hand prodding at his head and lightly pulling at his locks. The invasive inspection reminds Yuri of Lilia, and when she’d first tested his durability as a dancer. He decides that he doesn’t want to think about anyone from the skating world for now, and so shaking his head, he slaps the woman’s hand with a glare as she shrugs. “I’ll allow it this once, it’ll be good practice for you considering his hair is thick and blond and certainly not something we have often considering our location… but you’re to work in the spare room and charge double.”

Yuri blinks as he tucks his hair messily behind his ear. He only realises just how long it has gotten as he runs a hand through it, finding the strands meeting their end at his diaphragm. “What the fuck? You’re just a sexist, bitchy hag!” was she seriously saying this to a _customer_!? Wasn’t the “customer always right” or some shit? “And besides,” He begins, a challenging glint in his eye. “Who said I want a haircut? Or anything?”

“You entered a salon, boy.” Miss Balensky shoots him a glare, eyeing his _designer clothes_ hungrily. He knows the signs for when someone is bad news, and he knows how to play a greedy snob, he’d decided long ago that people like her are most certainly below everyone else, especially himself.

Yuri wants to thank Viktor for being the extra man he is and purchasing such things in leopard print, even if at the time Yuri was too lost for words to yell at his stupid and impulsive habits. He tugs on his hoodie and makes sure that his outfit is clearly visible, almost laughing out loud at the elder’s face. Yes, it should be made incredibly clear that she was insulting a _very_ important person.

“You disrupt my work flow, interrogate my trainee and then claim you don’t want anything?” She pauses, seriously considering the worth of Yuri before decisively tutting. “I’ve changed my mind; you can ask your questions elsewhere.”

Yuri’s face scrunches up in frustration. He’s already certain he won’t be leaving until he’s gotten the hag to regret her choices – you simply don’t treat people with discrimination for being who they are, and even he knew those boundaries. Plus, he still had questions and he’d be damned if he didn’t get their answers. There’s another silent second that passes by, so he lets the woman think she’s won as he decides on which expletives in which language he should choose from. His dictionary had been rapidly increasing, and he’d almost settled on using a variety of Japanese words as colourful as the girl’s hair beside him, before said girl spoke up.

“Hey!” She’s clearly opposed to her boss’ attitude and Yuri can’t help but feel impressed with the bold move. “Come on, the only person you’ve seen that likes _my style_ is here and you go and shoot him down?” She grits out. “If I don’t take this client, how do I prove my skill in anything beyond free consultations?”

“You just aren’t ready!” the woman excuses. Excuses, excuses, Yuri is as sick of them as ‘Objective’ probably is. He’s heard them all before, been given every single pathetic one that could be imagined in the past. Yuri doesn’t care for such things.

He eyes the two, like an invisible other who could only watch. He wasn’t incredibly invested in the world of hair salons, his own knowledge had only been based off of the stylists he’d had in the past for important events and Yuuri and Viktor when he’d permit them to style his locks for competition. He didn’t know how important or complex each skill was, or why the owner had been ready to brush over this girl’s chance, but Yuri could feel a sense of annoyance for her as she was restricted from her passion.

What was the point in exploring if there was nowhere to go?

He realises that this mutual hatred for the predicament is something Yuuri once called _empathy_. Or was it sympathy? He really couldn’t remember which one had the meaning he was searching for and couldn’t be bothered to pay it any more attention anyway.

In Russian, it made sense – the words were not confused, but english? Oh english was always full of stupid rules and stupid ideas. You could have a word end in “ought” but it’s pronounced differently for though and thought, not to mention all that really changes is adding _an extra letter_. And don’t even get him started on _homophones, homographs and homonyms_ with Viktor’s stupid snickering as Yuri tries to process the difference between the three. _“Homophones sound the same but are spelt and mean different things Yuri. For example sew, so and sow!”_ He still couldn’t tell the difference even after being given tiny flashcards that kindergarten westerners used.

“ _Oh! And aren’t homographs spelt the same but have different meanings and pronunciations?”_ Viktor had recalled giddily, like some excited school boy asking out his crush, except he was merely talking about a stupid language Yuri didn’t think he would ever really need. “ _Like bow and bow… or Yuuri and Yuri!”_ Yuuri had tried to work out the example with their names before shrugging in a supposed agreement.

“ _And so homonyms are words that are spelt and said the same, but mean two different things!”_  Yuri had merely rolled his eyes at that point – he hadn’t asked for them to be his english tutors after all, they’d volunteered themselves knowing fully well he’d resist. _“Such as object and object!”_

So was it sympathy or empathy? Affect or effect? Principle or Principal? Yuri physically shakes his head to retain focus. God damn it, he doesn’t care about stupid english definitions, and yet it’s bothering him for some weird reason that he can’t figure it out, like the non-existent itch one has when they’ve forgotten a word. He still doesn’t understand this stupid language, although he’s big enough to admit that he _does_ need it and he’s actually glad he’d paid attention and practised – or was it practice?

“This boy can go somewhere else, I won’t tolerate such tomfoolery around here!” The shrill echoes of the two in front of him are what successfully tear him from the subconsciousness. He doesn’t need Viktor and Yuuri, he shouldn’t be thinking about them right now.

So he clears his throat, unimpressed with the lack of professionalism the woman had held for her staff, and trailed his gaze around her figure judgementally. He’s been told before that it just makes him look like a spoilt brat, but Yuri had figured that looking the part was merely not enough to commit to. “Jesus, you’re a hag.” He spat, telling them exactly what was on his mind. It effectively silenced the two quickly.

“ _Excuse me?!_ ”

“Yeah, excuse you.” Yuri says smugly, a hand reaching behind him for his wallet. He fumbles as he speaks, blindly reaching for his shoulder bag in search for the zipper. “She’s gonna give me a consultation and do _whatever the fuck she pleases_ because she probably has more artistic talent in one strand of her hair than you have in all the bones of your body.” He swipes out his gold amex card and flicks it between forefinger and thumb like a piece of scrap paper before nodding towards the girl’s direction. He’d learnt this trick from Viktor, despite Yuuri’s constant protest about how bribery with money wasn’t a good example to follow, and for the most part he’d agreed.

In fact, he wasn’t sure himself as to why he was pulling out ‘the big guns’ as Phichit had once said, but it was a satisfying feeling to see when the woman could only eye fuck the piece of plastic he held. Well, if the clothes he wore hadn’t captured her attention before, then _this_ certainly had. He didn’t feel bad however – it was not manipulation, ok maybe a _little_ , but he had a right to be served after all and perhaps he wanted to give ‘Objective’ a chance. Because the world was cruel and if he didn’t, then who would?

He wanted to laugh as the girl, whose name he still didn’t know, silently lead him to the spare room. The hag could only watch as they went, sheepishly admitting defeat with a mumbled, “Call me when you’re done.” As she stepped away.

To his surprise however, Yuri had found his amusement in the comfort of knowing that he was doing something _for someone else_ , and not in the discomfort Miss Balensky had endured. He had briefly wondered if seeking other people’s pain for his pleasure was sadistic, or as they said in Germany, _schadenfreude_ , but had quickly dropped the subject when he realised that he had _willingly submit_ himself to at least an hour and half with a complete stranger. That didn’t make him selfish, right? His only regret was not getting to tell anyone about his predicament, they’d have all laughed for sure.

In that case, maybe it’s better they don’t know after all…

The girl offers him a seat at a slightly chipped mirror, apologetically smiling as she pulls out a black apron to wrap around him. He doesn’t pay it much attention, helping her to tug free his locks that had been trapped underneath. The colours he’d been drawn to in the window were now reflected in front of him, and he has to wonder how much dye his hair could handle before he’d have to concern himself with a fate similar to Viktor’s thinning hair.

“So,” She begins, pulling out a multitude of clips and spray bottles. On the row beneath the top, Yuri eyes the hair extensions poking out curiously, before returning to stare at the hairstylist through the mirror. She’s grinning, seeming to have noticed the want to inquire as she pulls a rainbow assortment of hairs from the drawer. “Lemme guess, you saw my hair outside and decided rather spontaneously that you want a drastic change too, but then realised you haven’t thought this through completely and now you don’t wanna damage your hair yeah?”

“Pretty much.” Yuri shrugs. He’s no fool who tries to hide his concerns. He isn’t _that_ insecure, he likes to believe. He is rather impressed with this girl’s intuition however, and can tell that she’s been giving far too many consultations for one trainee.

He eyes his own hair for a moment before blowing a few strands from his face. What would anyone say if he returned home with _hot pink_ on his head instead of gold? He’d have to make sure it was the exact same shade as that stupid Cadillac Viktor had, for the irony of course.

The girl’s fingers runs through his hair, ends examined for splits as she begins to brush the tangles out carefully. “I’d suggest dyes, and I don’t think I’d even need to bleach this to get a permanent colour to run through, however if you’re not certain, we can always try the adaptable way.” She nods to the extensions with a knowing look, a hand simultaneously reaching for a multitude of colours. “If you like this idea, I can show you how to style your own hair and perfect it for today, or we can go ahead and dye everything if you’re certain.”

Yuri pauses, as if this moment is the first time he’s made a spontaneous decision without any guidance. He sees both sides to the argument and so nods to which is preferred; the extensions, which are quickly scooped up and shown off in all their glory. As the girl unclips them and places the first of a hundred, a neon green row that wraps around the base of his head, Yuri admires how the artificial strands flow significantly longer down his back, adding length and volume to his own.

It looks amazing, and only gets even better once he’s introduced to _patterned hair extensions_ , immediately picking out _all_ the animal print ones to mix in with his bright colours. The end results feature a gay spew of rainbows with his natural hair trimmed and blending into fake, and he wonders only briefly if fifty hair extension clips are too much for his scalp. He mentally shrugs the thought away after ‘Objective’, whose name he realises he’ll probably never know and face he’ll never see again, corrects the last few strands of the bangs that half cover his face. There’s a sprits of hairspray, the strong, good stuff, and the natural yet artificial tufts of mess that are expertly pulled from his head completes the look.

Yuri admires his reflection in the mirror, and he concludes that he looks 100x better than Viktor Nikiforov and his flamboyant ice skating costumes ever did. The self confidence boost feles nice, even if Yuri doesn’t have any particular self-esteem issues himself. He wants to share this with the world – see how Yakov and Lilia react to his rebellion. He wants to show it off to Beka and—

He wants to take a photo for himself before frowning, realising that it wasn’t something he could simply do as he still didn’t have a phone in the first place, let alone posting and sharing when no one else knows where he is; Otabek has probably already tried to get Yakov and Lilia to help and who knew how many others were looking for him. It sours the mood almost immediately, and his new colours now start to look dull and boring.

‘Objective’ is too busy silently packing up to see the dilemma spread across his face.

Now he’s thinking about Otabek and he _really doesn’t want to_. He’d rather curl up and pretend nothing ever happened. Yes, Yuri was forthcoming, and headstrong, and opinionated heavily, but he was also scared shitless and running on an adrenaline rush to forget and get away. “ _Yuri,”_ He hate’s Otabek’s voice and the way it says his name. The skater isn’t present, but his memories are surging forward, and it’s killing him to remember. _“Listen… we really need to talk… I’m really sorry it’s just—“_ They’d talked, and it’d hurt, and everything that was his best friend was now breaking and falling apart. He’d said he was fine, had even argued the point that he was tired; and despite the standards he’d held for other people, for excuses, for assholes in general, Yuri had lied, and now he wasn’t entirely sure if he was strong enough to face those who’d be mad at him for leaving.

It was dumb, his problem. If he needed time away then he needed time away. It wasn’t like it was the middle of a season or a new one’s beginning like when Viktor had left for Hasetsu, it wasn’t like Yuri had run off in infatuation. He was merely clearing his head, because he’d only get so much time left for that before the Grand Prix dragged him back into practise. He’s allowed to do things for himself, he’s his own person legally and therefore has that right, and he’d even made sure of that at the airport with the Russian Embassy.

He’s making excuses. Excuses, excuses, Yuri is as sick of them as he was before, perhaps even more so now. He’s heard them before repeatedly, been given every single one that could be imagined in the past. Yuri doesn’t care for such things, he finds them ridiculous, and yet the most pathetic one he can recall are the ones he’s telling himself now.

The cloth is removed from his shoulders, Yuri’s eyes seeing and mouth talking, but his brain not processing his actions. ‘Objective’ is holding up the card reader, saying something in stupid english, but every letter and vowel and phonetic rule just blurs together, like his vision is, so he hastily chucks the card against the reader and waits for the vibration of a beep to tell him the transaction has gone through.

He gives her a _$250_ tip – because good jobs deserve a hella good pay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think the longer these chapters become, the less I'll be able to pick out the mistakes. Originally I reread a chapter three times, once as I wrote it, once after it was and again before posting. Unfortunately the chapters have gotten to a point where it's a little too much so I will try my best but apologise if there are grammatical errors!
> 
> Feel free to leave comments! I love reading what you guys have to say!
> 
> (This story isn't beta read!)


	7. Who Knows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yurio disappearing?!”  
> “Ran away from home!?”  
> “Last seen with the legendary Kazakh figure skater Otabek Altin?!”  
> Yuuko braces herself for the weird, wonderful and unfortunate.  
> “HE MUST BE PREGNANT!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I'll put my hand up and admit that yeah, I haven't been writing much so my stock pile of chapters are definitely closing in oh noooooo.
> 
> I'll do my best though! I mean, yeah... 
> 
> Anyways, have slight angst because I like to torture myself with this kinda thing yay!

It’d not taken him a long time to find a convenience store within the hotel, one that would sell what he was looking for. Because, as stupid as Yuri thought it was, there were security checks at every entrance into the building, meaning his purchases would simply not be able to pass through. The kid at the 7-11 was friendly enough to point out their rather short stock of supplies, and had understandably kept silent as Yuri paid. The ride to his floor had also been uneventful, and he was thankful that the world had decided to at least bless him with peace for once.

The hotel room’s view overlooks the Sydney Harbour Bridge, and extends to showcase the rest of Sydney’s iconic landmarks. From once glance, anyone could tell that it was worth a lot of money, something well into the thousands per night but Yuri can’t see anything and feels no need to enjoy it, leaving the blinds drawn and the lights off.

His suitcase is now resting against the suitcase rack, partially open and partially a mess. His day pack is chucked carelessly across it, and knocks a few of his shirts off in the process, but Yuri makes no move to fix it and instead retreats to the spacious bathroom he’s been given.

The floor is littered with the hair extensions – really, a stupid decision the more he thought about it. What was he thinking? A disguise? That was a Viktor thing to do, a _stupid_ Viktor thing to do, and if anything, the neon colours had only made him a human bug zapper, drawing in literally anyone he passed. He did feel a little bad for the work put into his hair, but he’d brushed that aside with a heavy sigh.

_“I really like you Yuri.”_ Otabek’s face had softened, and his eyes, despite fearful, held the kindest aura within them. Yuri could only stare, deeply enamoured by how such a simple colour could split into a million others. Were Otabek’s eyes always like this? ” _I like you as in… more than friends… I was hoping to ask, would you go out… with me?”_

Yuri only sees the same flat turquoise of his eyes, desaturated and lifeless. They are nothing like the hues in Otabek’s, they’re nothing of any interest. Why had Otabek liked him? What did the Kazakh see in _him_?! His reflection is staring back, and it doesn’t offer him any advice. No, he never really has good advice anyway, the only person he actually trusts with such things is—

“ _Yuri, we’re worried about you.”_ He’d not said anything that entire week after the impossible became possible, having holed himself up in their spare room that had been dubbed “Yuri’s Bedroom”. That had been a joke, they’d claimed he was like a son to them, and even went as far as sticking those childish wooden letters on the door. _Yuri’s Room_ – it had felt dumb, but even a dumb idea was an oddly appreciative one. He never told them that though. “ _Please come out and talk… I know you feel upset and I understand—“_

_“You don’t, shut the fuck up and leave me the hell alone!”_

Yuri was quite a bitter person, he never tried to hide it and everyone who knew him knew that. If they didn’t, they’d learn.

“ _Remember back in Sochi_? _When you found me in the bathroom?”_ Yuuri didn’t give up or go away when Yuri told him too, and instead stayed until Yuri had left his space. “ _I lost Vicchan, he was my poodle and my best friend… but I couldn’t stay sad forever, he wouldn’t have wanted me to be… a-and I don’t think I can handle knowing you’re suffering alone.”_

Yuuri had begun to cry after that, and unbeknownst to him, Yuri had too.

_“I mean, if you don’t feel the same way…”_

_“I know you miss him—“_

_“Yuri, you need to be careful!”_ Viktor’s way of caring was different, Viktor showed it in his own odd manner, perhaps even, dare he said it, in a similar fashion to Yakov. “ _Stop immediately, if you push yourself you could damage something!”_ He ignored the suggestion.

_“Yuri, I made you some Katsudon, have something to eat.”_

No.

_“Are you sure you’re okay?”_

Definitely not.

_“Watch you’re landing!”_

Whatever.

_“We’re worried, it’s not healthy!”_

Who cares?

_“I don’t want this to come between us—“_

And how had he react?

“SHUT UP!” No one could hear him, no one could see him, no one could even save him. Yuri was alone in a foreign country and by choice he was too. He knows why, he did that on purpose after all, and yet the more he tries to run into the arms of silence and security, the louder the world only seems to be growing.

He’s shaking, hands trembling, and the plastic bag with _childish crafts_ rests inside. Because he’s a child; merely Viktor and Yuuri’s _little boy_ , Yakov and Lilia’s _young student_ , Otabek Altin’s _childish crush_. Yuri Plisetsky’s stupid self, and he isn’t sure why there are people who act the way they do around him.

He’s terrified, and Yuri knows he doesn’t have many fears, but this? It has him gasping for breath and tugging on the small plastic box in front of him. It has him in tears, letting them stream down his face as he tears away packaging, mucus running down his nose as he cuts his hands on _mother fucking plastic packaging_. He ignores the stings of the scrapes.

Why is he so scared? What is he afraid of?

He’s not thinking, he’s just doing, shoving a finger and thumb into the holes of the safety scissors the kit comes with, and wrestling his hand free from more plastic. He thinks that the manufacturers have got it all completely wrong, that their product has been misconstrued, because the box reads a recommendation for 2-3 year olds but perhaps it should also include teenagers.

The scissors are pathetic, as pathetic as his excuses and as pathetic as how he feels, slowly and barely shredding the gold that rests against his back. Yuri undoes all the work that went into trimming, all the time and effort he’d spent brushing and combing and washing his hair, reversing the dedication he’d given to growing it out so long, and soon he’s surrounded by piles of it, clinging to his sweating body and itching at his feet.

He’s surrounded by gold, and gold and gold, and yet every little strand is worth less than a cent.

He’s still crying, and he knows he’s a mess, just as messy as his hair, perhaps even worse. The blades are dull, as expected for a child’s thing, and he eventually changes tactics, grabbing the ends left uncut and hacking through it like a knife. He feels his hair literally break, curling into dead, splitting ends as it’s reduced to what it was when he was younger – a child.

It’s now chin length, and he represents himself when he was 15, when he’d first gone to Hasetsu, when he’d made his senior debut – when he’d first met Otabek. Back when he really gave no shits, when everything was as simple as focusing on skating. When his grandfather was still alive and he was proud of his accomplishments.

Then he falls, crumpling into the mess he’s made and scrunches up into the smallest ball he can. No one catches him, and he’s left to fall. He’s terrible at finding the right words, he wishes he paid more attention to his english tutoring. He doesn’t know how or why he feels. It’s agonising, heart clenching and he almost wants to dig out the organ and throw it away.

He decides that it’s not this feeling he’s terrified of, no matter how excruciatingly painful it has become; it’s the one that other’s give him, when he’s normal and happy or as happy as his usual scowling permits him to be. He knows the word for it in Russian – _Любить,_ and he knows the character in Japanese – _愛_ _._ In fact, he’s almost sure that it was one of the first words he’d learnt from his english lessons on day one. But the fact is, Yuri can’t remember it and he has no way to even search what it means.

Whatever it translates too, he’s positive it’s what’s scaring him, and he only wants it to go away even more – he _hates_ it. 

 

* * *

 

 

Otabek can stare as much as he wants for as long as he wants, but he knows that the words won’t change a damn thing. Yuri Plisetsky could be in one of 14 countries, each spaced evenly around the world.

The thought hurts him and it’s understandable that he’d take the heaviest hit as a result; to think that he was responsible for his friend’s disappearance, no one should ever have to feel such tremendous guilt in their lives. He knows he’s ‘clinging to straws’, as Yuri once quoted from the other Yuuri, who had probably quoted someone else in turn. He really hopes that the boy isn’t hurt, and when they’d find him he could apologise for everything and take back anything.

He just wants things to be ok again.

He’s flicking through the list of countries, thankfully shortened down since they’d all been distributed, but there is no comfort in his repeated motions. He’s no longer reading them either, probably more obsessed with how many lines they take up on his notes app, and he thinks he may cry at the sheer sight.

“Altin, tears aren’t going to bring back the idiot.” Yakov calls him over, showing his concern through the usual gruffness of his nature. It isn’t the most pleasant of wordings, and it really does make it out to seem like the boy is dead, which only heightens the tension in the room further. Otabek is usually understanding, calm and patient for tough love, but he’s worried, and he knows it does nothing to help them, but he’s going to worry anyway and ignore the elder man.

“Mr Feltsman, will all due respect for your career and reputation in the world of figure skating, shut the fuck up.” It’s the most polite cuss Lilia has ever heard, and it forces her to hold back laughter from all the way in the kitchen. “Please.” Otabek adds softly, burying his face into his hands.

Yakov can only do so much when a kid has a mental break down. Usually he’d train the instinct to want to scream and cry, out of all his skaters before he’d teach them how to twizzle and spin. But Otabek wasn’t his student, just as Yuuri wasn’t either, and so his usual methods for dealing with such things simply don’t work.

He tries to recall what Viktor does in times like these, and finds that he has a begrudging respect for the way the love stricken fool coaches. Yakov realises it’s not always about the results now; sometimes it’s the bond that forms between two that help make success.

He places a tentative hand on the boy’s shoulder, uncertain as he shoots Lilia a glare. Her snickering isn’t aimed at the poor skater, but merely her ex-husband and his struggles.

“Good.” She finally decides to say, a tray with tea brought over to the pair. Otabek takes a chance to look up, and Yakov retracts his hand as if it’d been burnt. “Let out ugly emotions. Transform the useless into useful.” She offers one of the dainty cups to Otabek, with not a smile on her face but a reassuring nod. Lilia was no soft hearted sweetheart, like Yakov she was one for tough love. Unlike the elder man however, she knew how to control her intensity. Poise and grace, control and balance – that was what made her great.

“Thanks.” Otabek says lowly, blinking away the half shed tears. He’s embarrassed, namely because he feels so vulnerable, but he can’t bring himself to try and amend the reputation loss from his short outburst.

“Yakov, go busy yourself, Otabek and I are going to chat.” Yakov usually wouldn’t be one to take orders so swiftly, but the sharp look upon the prima ballerina’s face meant that there was no room for discussion. So he stands and he leaves, to where, Otabek has no clue, but the second his footsteps fade away, it’s Lilia Baranovskaya that he worries about now.

“You like him yes?” It’s more of an accusation than anything, and it leaves Otabek spluttering out his hot tea. Lilia rolls her eyes at his actions, swiftly snatching some napkins in an instant. “It’s obvious, at least to me it is.” She pauses to sip her own beverage, “He didn’t take it well? I find it odd to believe considering it was clear the feeling was mutual… You’re going to have to fill in some gaps here boy.”

Otabek sits silently, shifting under her piercing gaze. He’d always thought Yuri was exaggerating whenever he’d claimed he felt her suck up his soul with her eyes, and Otabek had always jokingly pointed out that he’d agreed to those terms when he started training with her. Now, the Kazakh knew what he’d meant, and consent or not, he felt a part of him be snatched up by the woman.

“Yes.” He says slowly, thinking carefully about his words, “I told him I liked him… I then asked him out.”

“And?” Lilia raises an eyebrow, pressing for more. She’s prompting him to go into an explanation, something which was embarrassing and honestly stupid, but there’s no _push_ for more, just patience as she waits for him to continue. Otabek sighs heavily.

“And uhm… he completely avoided the question. So I assumed he wanted time to process everything.” She nods, and realising her nonchalant behaviour, Otabek also notes that Lilia would already be aware of his friend’s behaviour, understanding the frustration he’s feeling. Of course, she wouldn’t know exactly how he feels, but amongst the recent chaotic confusion, it’s a little comforting to know that he’s not completely alone.

_“I’m just… surprised. I didn’t think you’d tell me something like that Beka.”_ If it hadn’t been for the nickname, Otabek figured he would have exploded in fear for having ruined everything. Yuri had seemed so calm, collected, so unlike his usual self. Oh how clearly he’d read those signs wrongly, what a mistake he’d made to accept Yuri’s nervous excuses. Would anybody else have been able to pick up the signs if they were in his place? Would Viktor and Yuuri? Yakov? Lilia?

_”I mean, if you don’t feel the same way—“_

_“A moment. Beka, give a guy a moment.”_ Clearly he needed more than a moment.

_“Are you sure you’re ok?”_ Yuri’s eyes betrayed him as he nodded, the crystal like turquoise shimmering with the threat of tears. Otabek selfishly thought that the way they shined reminded him of precious gemstones, his head not focused completely on everything Yuri was doing. _Damage control Altin! Not marvelling over his eyes!_

“ _I said I’m fine, Jesus.”_ There was something in the tone of voice that he couldn’t pin point, something that threw the otherwise normal behaviour off. He didn’t think back then how it was the fact that his best friend was merely struggling to keep himself together, he didn’t consider that Yuri’s arms were struggling with heavy weights.

_“I don’t want this to come between us.”_ He had begun, once he’d realised just how silent things had become. He didn’t know that he’d just thrown Yuri into the deep end and left him to be pulled under, but he knew that something felt off. Yuri had turned around in response, eyes rolling before he punched him in the shoulder. It was far lighter than any of the friendly punches Otabek had ever received before, and maybe if he weren’t so desperate for a sign that he hadn’t just destroyed something so precious to him, he’d have realised it sooner. Maybe even prevented him running off.

_“Beka, you need to chill, let’s talk about something else for now.”_ So they talked, and Otabek had let the topic go with withering hope.

 

* * *

 

 

Neither of the Crispino twins nor Mila for that matter, were rather pleased with the way they had been paired up, but had reluctantly agreed that they’d work better anyway. It didn’t make a significant difference in reality, they’d all sat in the ice rink’s break room to stay together, but Georgi supposed the official listings of pairs were what bothered them most; to see something so _official_ and upsetting. He tried to make peace with the situation, as best as it would allow, but he knew he couldn’t control everything, just as he couldn’t control everyone,

Georgi had no problems with Sara, considered her a worthy skater of the women’s division too; he had no qualms over her overly protective brother either.

Okay, so perhaps he was _slightly_ – incredibly— overprotective, Georgi settles on, shifting the small stack of sticky notes aside. But in the Italian’s defence he could sort of understand that need to feel important, everyone knew about his history with Anya after all.

Mila is sitting opposite him, focused for once instead of flirting with her girlfriend. Beside her is said protective brother, both partially focused, and ready to pounce, should Georgi somehow “hurt dear Sara”. The young woman returns with four coffees in hand, sighing before sitting down next to him.

“Georgi isn’t a stalker, relax.” She shoots her brother a glare, before pulling a sticky note from the pile. They’d decided to work together to ease the tension, and hopefully look over each other’s work as they went. “Seriously, we need to focus on finding the little fairy!”

Michele tears his gaze away, somewhat embarrassed for not having paid attention as he nods, eyes trained on the series of phone numbers in front of him. They’re from a series of international airlines, some he’s never heard of before despite constantly flying out of country for competitions. He isn’t sure which the best is to call first.

“Let’s order these flights into places Yuri would most likely go.” Mila decides abruptly, answering his inner query before pausing to contemplate her suggestion. “I take that back. Yuri is stupid, his decision would be stupid, so I’m pulling my bets on the flight to Croatia.”

“That left a 2:45.” Georgi finds himself saying, “We’ve deducted from Phichit’s connections that Yuri had checked in for a flight before that.” He pulls up the google document they’d shared, pointing to Croatia and the time it had departed.

On it, the rest of the skaters and coaches had filled out details, informing the others as to what they’d discovered through their own investigations. It helped to keep things organised and everyone up to date without the constant need of phones calls and unexpected meetings in person. Phichit, who’d obviously formatted it, had even gone as far as including a live update on his algorithm for social media. They’d decided that they’d hand it over and all relevant information in a few days’ time, when the police would be willing to help; if they still held to their promise, and carefully made sure that any tips that had been given were left as anonymous.

“And we trust Phichit’s sources?” Mila snaps up. The red haired woman, usually kind while a little boisterous, is in fact furious, and refuses to take the situation lightly. Georgi wants to assume that she views the teen as a little brother, but doesn’t push to ask.

“Well, Phichit _is_ a social media influence, and the woman at the bag drop _was_ a fan.” Sara hums, crossing out the flights they could deduct. “Plus, she even admit she couldn’t tell us everything, so I think it’s safe to say that the fact she could only give so little means a lot.” There was a hum of agreement from the others as Mila sighed with a nod, rubbing at her brow in fatigue. Days had already passed and all that had been accomplished were the endless circles and dead ends the skaters had met. No one wanted to admit it, but they were starting to lose faith themselves.

“So what? How many places could Yuri be in now?” Mila askes, turning to Michele. His own laptop is turned to face them, revealing the same google document that Georgi had had. The list of 50 or so countries was significantly smaller now, reduced to the mere number of 7, but even 7 foreign countries with a total of 12 foreign cities were enough to be intimidating.

“Any of these.” Michele says, scrolling past the exasperated list of crossed out contenders. “12 cities spread over the course of 7 countries… and thankfully, this means that Phichit and Chris’ list are cleared.” Georgi reads over the file and compares them to the 4 numbers he has scribbled down in front of him. Two can be crossed out, which only leave another couple with potential.

“I suppose now we call them and see if we can extract any details.” Sara sighs, eyeing the sticky note. “Want me to do it or shall you?”

Georgi stares at the numbers in his chicken scrawl, so uncharacteristic of his usual tragic grace. His own determination having absorbed all effort at tidiness. “You can.” He mumbles.

The situation isn’t too foreign, everyone in the room had been familiar with Viktor’s escapade and Yuri’s following footsteps in the past, but this time it wasn’t the same thing, and now he’s not sure how to feel.

He wasn’t _incredibly_ close to the blond, not as close as the kid was to Viktor, and soon after Yuuri and Otabek. Georgi liked to think they were on the blurry line between acquaintances and friends, with Mila just over the line by a bit. So no, he wasn’t inviting him over for dinner and sleepovers every second day, and no he wasn’t picking him up and throwing him around like a ragdoll, but _yes_ , Georgi was concerned.

Sara stands up with a nod, plucking the note from Georgi hands as she retrieves the burner cell they’d been using. “I’ll be right back.” She promises, turning to exit the room.

 

* * *

 

 

“Yurio disappearing?!”

“Ran away from home!?”

“Last seen with the legendary Kazakh figure skater Otabek Altin?!”

She braces herself for the weird, wonderful and unfortunate.

“HE MUST BE PREGNANT!”

Yeah, Yuuko Nishigori is just about done with her children’s ridiculousness, has been for 6 years now honestly, since the moment they destroyed her womb, but she loves them and has to refrain from rolling her eyes as they carry on. Parental encouragement and whatnot.

“What on earth brought you to _that_ conclusion?” she mumbles, frowning at the triplets. It’s a familiar expression that she wears, one reserved for moments when she’s sure she doesn’t want to know the answer but is too kind in nature to refuse an explanation. In response, each little girl has an identical grin, a board in her hands and what looks like a stack of cue cards in preparation for what their mother has asked, as if already anticipating an explanation. In synchronisation, they each present their case, and Yuuko has to wonder how they’ve become so observant if not a little crazy with imagination.

“It’s simple!” The closest one to her, Lutz, says, eyes brightly shining in excitement. There’s no leader within their small trio, however she usually is the one who begins their argument first. “Clearly, during the off season, he went to visit Otabek Altin—“

“—and they obviously hugged together. A lot.” Loop continues.

“And then when he found out he was pregnant, he ran away!” Axel finishes, in tandem with her sisters like a practiced act.

Yuuko stares, and blinks, and tries not to laugh because _she’s a supportive mother_. The triplets have diagrams, and time stamps and all sorts of odd photos of security footage she isn’t sure _how_ they’ve gotten their hands on, and doesn’t question. They’re Phichit Chulanont’s protégés, which should be explanation enough.

“It makes sense, right mom?” Loop inquires.

Yuuko takes a moment to figure out how she’s going to explain to them that pregnancy was a little more complicated than a hug, and finds that her husband should be the one to explain these things instead. He was always better at the technical side of things after all.

“Well, it’s a good theory.” Yuuko begins, “But that’s not why he ran away, or at least from what Yuuri told me.”

“Wait, _you know_?!” The three chorus, like a single entity that has been separated thrice. It’s a triplet thing, or so people say; to finish each other’s sentences or say things in unison. Sometimes it freaks out unsuspecting others, and sometimes Yuuko maybe laughs at their reactions. Three babies is all the more worth it once she gets to have a little fun with unfortunate others.

“Of course I know.” Yuuko blinks, surprised by their misguided information. “Let me explain.”

Midway through explaining the full extent of the situation to the girls, she briefly wonders how Viktor and Yuuri are doing. Her best friend had been devastated on the phone and his husband’s background noises could only confirm that they were in a mindset of hell. The worry was nothing new, Yuuri had been good practice for that, but the severity of it all was a stranger completely, a stranger she couldn’t understand. Of course Yuuko has lost one of her own three before, and the first time it happened she’d been an emotional train wreck, but they always come back running when they realise they’ve strayed off too far, and it wasn’t as if Hasetsu was dangerous for a child to wander off in.

She knows the skating couple consider her angsty, teenage friend a part of their tiny family, and she knows that he is so much more different than a 7 year old in a small town. She can’t imagine the worry, doubled with Yuuri’s anxiety, and she can’t imagine the turmoil over the situation, but she can imagine as a parent that losing family is something you didn’t want to endure.

She _also_ knows that they’ve tried to follow with adoption, she’d even offered to surrogate if possible. She doesn’t think she’ll ever understand completely the pain of betrayal from your homeland, but hopes that the wound eventually heals. Well, it sort of already had; with an oddly shaped Yuri bandage, now peeled off in the slowest and most excruciatingly painful way possible.

Yuuko is no longer paying attention to her children, she’d finished the explanation minutes ago. She was thinking now, remembering, and for once she can feel a fragment of the emotions that Yuuri is feeling too.

“ _H-he disappeared Yuuko!”_ It was the third night since the search had begun, and the third time she’d been called since the news had been broken to her. It had been 2 am by that point, but years of knowing Yuuri had prepared her for his unaccounted late night calls. She knows how to help in these times, and goes through with her ‘Katsuki Yuuri Care Plan’ to get him to calm.

_“We need to have a levelled head to find him Yuuri.”_ She said. Start with the facts, let Yuuri mull over statistics, tire his brain thinking logically and let him fuss over the _truth_ instead of anxious, self-conscious thoughts.

_“I know that, but Yuuko, it’s been a long time! A-and the police won’t help for a week in case he turns up! He could b-be dead by then! Yuuko! Yuri could get kidnapped or hurt and we’d have no way of knowing –“_

_“Then we need to devise a plan.”_ Yuuko knows the loops Yuuri’s head pulls him through, knows the rollercoaster ride it takes in order for him to come to a halt. She didn’t sigh or express her tiredness, she kept that to herself as she sat up quietly, making her way to her closet. “ _Come to Ice Castle, we can skate for a bit and go over anything you’re concerned about.”_  

Ice skating was always the key to completely calm him, just as ballet, so of course, Yuuri blubbered a mess of an agreement as he went, and despite being intangible, had been understood. The call ended quickly after that, so both could get ready in haste. Yuuko had already left a message for Takeshi, though he wouldn’t be too surprised to see that she’d gone for a third night in a row. The next morning he let her sleep in and took the first shift at the rink.

But in that moment, when they’d both glided across the ice and performed lazy figure eights, Yuuko allowed herself to slip into a spell of worry herself. They’d already skinned every surface of the digital world for a single footprint, and nothing had turned up as a result. There weren’t that many options left, and without any cooperation from _anyone_ with authority, chances were starting to look grim.

“Kids!” Yuuko calls out, scanning the rink for the triplets. They’re crowded around the dividers that separate ice from land, and they’re busy going over their own analysis. It’s like an instinct that they react to the call, expectantly waiting for Yuuko to say what she needs to.

The young woman is a good parent, and reasons internally that this is to help another, her best friend, so with a flare in her eyes, she waves them over, and pulls out her laptop for work. She hasn’t given up yet, she decides. “Bedtime will have to be postponed for a couple hours tonight – we have a tiger to catch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said last chapter, Chapters are getting longer and stuff which is nice. Kinda means my proof reading is getting sloppy though so I appreciate any feedback and comments. 
> 
> Also like, I'm writing and posting really late so my sleep deprived brain is not functional whatsoever. I need to change that ahah.
> 
> Until next time!
> 
> (This story isn't beta read!)


	8. Broken Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lilia slowly pulls each one out, counting the precious metals in wonder. “They’re all here.” She breathes, fingers tracing the delicate patterns. “Every single one he’s ever won… in this… children’s lunch box under his bed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah I'm so sorry for the slightly later update! This chapter kinda slipped my mind and I only just realised I haven't updated this week. Hopefully it does some justice and yay! The skater family is a step closer to finding Yuri!

“This is hopeless.” The Thai skater sighs dramatically. He’s perched on one of the hotel room’s chairs, in an awkward position akin to that of a frog. His laptop is perched on his knees before being laid to rest on the opposing table, and with a final groan, he allows his body to slink to the ground in defeat. Chris chuckles lowly at the man’s pedantic behaviour, patting his head softly.

The Swiss skater is stretched out on the floor beside him, a scatter of sticky notes surrounding their legs with some crumpled and torn in discarding. Makkachin is dozing in the corner, blissfully unaware of what’s going on. Chris wishes to be Makkachin in that moment. “ _Mon Amour_!” He calls out, a hand running through the other’s thick, dark hair, “I really don’t know what to say… We’ve already found something thanks to your social skills, the lists are shorter – and none of the countries we had are there.”

Chris pauses. He’s used to offering advice with the amount of times Viktor and or Yuuri has called him in the middle of the night, and he finds a sense of pride for knowing what to say. But _those_ talks were usually about relationship advice or the odd “ _Chris, I need to know Viktor’s mother’s, aunt’s cousin’s step brother’s partner’s name for the wedding invites!”,_ and this was clearly not that.

Still, despite his previous worries, he tries to comfort Phichit, and together they both sit up in contemplation. There’s nothing much they _can_ do, that is until the others have updated the document with their findings. They’d been lucky, or unlucky, depending on how you saw it, to have no number to call, considering the latest tip from Phichit had pretty much wiped their list out. This unfortunately meant they were sitting ducks for the moment.

“I don’t blame Yuri for running away.” Phichit mumbles softly, eyes downcast as if ashamed to have admit such a thing. Chris raises a brow at him questioningly, inviting him to continue. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m worried and stuff… but I really don’t blame him.”

“We don’t even know what’s happened or why though.” Chris points out, watching the document for any updates. There are none, just as there had been for the past two hours.

“I know that.” Phichit sighs, “But he must have had to feel quite a heavy amount of _something_ to feel so scared as to run off.” The skater has a point there, Chris thinks, but for whatever reason, he simply cannot fathom what _“something”_ could actually be. He’s known Yuri for a decent amount of time, almost as long as he’s known Viktor since the two had become friends. Of course, the most they’d actually ever say in a typical conversation was the standard “hello” and “Bye princess boy”, but Chris likes to think that they hit it off well at that Sochi banquet years ago.

“What if it’s simply a call of independence and his argument with Otabek merely inspired him?” he chooses to say, hoping that the suggestion could help make the reality appear less intimidating. It doesn’t, and Phichit swerves his head to shake it, giving him a look that he _knows_ he is right.

“Not like this.” Phichit defends boldly. He doesn’t know Yuri on a personal level as well as others, but he can recognise a few behavioural patterns online and from Yuuri and Viktor’s fond stories about him. Phichit’s less experienced and is aware, but he’s also rather well informed and hopes that theory work makes up for the practical.  “Yuri Plisetsky is many things, but incredibly stupid is not one of them.” He isn’t _entirely_ sure about this point but he’s a wishful thinker.

Their discussion is cut short from a phone call on Chris’ device, and the pair instinctively turn to read the screen, anticipating one of the other groups. They’re surprised to see the word ‘Viktor’ flashing in a dignified manner, and Chris makes a point to joke about how the retired skater was still surprising others without even touching the ice. Phichit and he share a look before swiping right, accepting the call in haste, and then it’s quickly placed on loud speaker as they jump at the energy they hear.

“Chris!” Viktor practically yells, impatiently waiting, “We have an idea, well, Yuuri did, my oh so smart and beautiful Yuuri!” He clears his throat and calms with a pause. ”We’ll need your and Phichit’s help of course, but we think we know how to track Yuri!”

 

* * *

 

 

Viktor hums softly at the food on his plate. Katsudon would obviously have been his preferred choice, but onigiri is just as good he supposes. Hiroko is still busy cleaning the kitchen up, and Mari is cleaning out one of the guest rooms with her father. All that’s left to accompany him is his darling husband.

Viktor does not mind one bit.

They’re sitting closely together, legs warm under the kotatsu that Yuuri had set their dinner on. It was cosy, with the table’s blanket draped across their legs, and Viktor decides he wants one for their own apartment, wherever that now may be.

“Who invented this tiny table and blanket, because we need to ask them to make us one.” Viktor declares, awkwardly picking up his chopsticks. Yuuri only pauses his eating, mouth open and his own food resting mid-air. His hands are more skilled at holding the wooden sticks but they’re shaking and thus almost drop the sashimi he’d asked for.

“What?” Viktor’s eyes widen and he realises that _maybe_ Yuuri wasn’t ready to stop worrying about their Yuri. The Japanese man lowers his food and drops his chopsticks unceremoniously into his plate. He’s staring at Viktor, with eyes that say ‘please take this hurt away’ but he doesn’t know how, no matter how many times he’s dealt with Yuuri’s anxiety in the past, and as a result he feels his heart _break_.

His own mind concludes that worrying is something he should _prevent_ and not encourage by asking what’s wrong, so Viktor tries to distract him, and realises only a little too late that Yuuri was already worrying and trying to make him stop was something akin to single-handedly stopping a bullet train in Japan. It wasn’t going to work, and everyone would only get hurt.

“Yuuri, let’s try and think about something else for—“

“No Viktor!” It’s shrill, and suddenly, the room that was silent before is _deafening._ His ears ring and he stares, gaze blown wide. Yuuri’s eyes are dark, framed with red ridges as they glisten in the available light. The tears slip willingly, and land in a mess on the table. They’re in miniature puddles of pain, and the tiniest of whimpers is immediately swallowed down. “Yurochka is _missing_! He could be hurt! He could be _dead_! How can you tell me to try and take my mind off of this when you don’t even know what’s happening!?”

He remains silent, mouth agape as Yuuri continues to yell, the bottled up façade of keeping together now breaking apart in front of him. His poor glass heart, once shattered by Viktor, is only blown further into smithereens. Yuuri’s breathing is ragged, and he furiously begins to rub at his eyes as his cheeks blossom in pink. Viktor recognises the behaviour as trying to hide, seemingly attempting to say _‘I’m embarrassed, please tell me it’s ok.”_ As Yuuri shrinks inwards ever so slightly. Viktor aches for him, and silently hopes that someone can come to their rescue; he senses the Katsuki family’s hesitant presence behind the room’s paper divider. _Noise travels through that, of course_.

Yuuri fists his hair and tugs, glasses askew before clattering to the ground, knocking his chopsticks like a Rube Goldberg and spilling the soy sauce dish on the side. Viktor doesn’t make a move to help fix the mess, he knows when and when not to enter Yuuri’s personal space, and so watches him with a guilty patience as his husband releases an animalistic growl of frustration. Viktor tries to look unfazed but can feel the shock slipping into his face.

“I’m fine.” Yuuri grits out, pulling at his scalp as he picks up the glassware. The kotatsu’s cloth is now stained with a brown spill, spoiling the pretty embroidery of cherry blossoms and progressively angering Yuuri further. “I just… I just need a breather.” He’s not looking at Viktor, he’s scraping at his face and squishing his cheeks, seeking a sign of comfort from the slight pinch.

“Of course _moya lyubov',_ take your time.” He tries to not sound pitiful and is glad to see when Yuuri simply nods and takes a drink of water. “Better?”

Yuuri meekly nods, face splotching with red as he looks up embarrassedly. He sniffs, airways congested, and reaches for a tissue. The food is left forgotten for the moment. “How are you so calm about this?”

Viktor swallows, eyes dipping off into a particularly interesting piece of wall behind Yuuri’s shoulder. He knows the truth is a better answer than a lie, but he also knows that he’d rather not make Yuuri feel any more upset than he already has been. Viktor slowly releases a clenched fist, rubbing his hands together under the thick blanket.

“I’m not.” He says slowly, “I just didn’t want to lose _both of my Yuris_ in the midst of this… I was scared that… I don’t know, maybe talking would have been better but… I’m sorry Yuuri, I was just scared you’d do something drastic and—“ His voice dies on his tongue and that is all he can say before Yuuri is crying again.

“Oh.” He mumbles, blinking helplessly at his partner, “Oh Viktor I – no… I promise you, I’d never do anything stupid…” he begins to fiddle with the loose threads of the blanket. “You’re right, I do need to… to take a break.”

“Ah yeah…” Viktor nods sheepishly, now remembering the point he had been trying to make earlier. “Yeah, take our minds off of this…”

“Yeah…”

The Katsukis shuffle away from the room, but neither ice skater hears them, they’re too quiet and too used to walking around undetected for such a slip up. Hiroko does smile in pride though, happy they’ve resolved their problem on their own.

Viktor’s light chuckle is now for Yuuri and Yuuri’s ears alone, soft and almost playful as he retries to pick up his chopsticks. “If this is what raising a teenager is like, we’re gonna make sure that the kid we adopt is gonna have trackers in their jacket.”

Yuuri smiles softly, attention now directed to the once forgotten onigiri rice balls. They’re in cute little shapes, especially made by his mother who _knew_ it’d get Viktor to coo in excitement. And he does, showing Yuuri every single tiny animal he’s about to eat (reluctantly) before asking if he can do the same too. Yuuri laughs a more complete laugh before admitting he could, and Viktor becomes excited all over again.

Once their laughter dies down and their food is cleared, the dishes are stacked neatly to the side of the kotatsu but neither men make a move to put them away. There’s a comfortable silence at the small table, and they’re doing “ _Gross old couple things”_ as Yuri would screech if he were there. The moment is perfect, and they’re talking through the gazes and gentle hand touches they share.

Viktor reaches forward to grasp Yuuri’s right hand, fingers brushing over knuckles as they rest atop his ring finger. The wedding band is bright and if Yuuri looks hard enough, can be seen shining brightly in the reflection of Viktor’s even brighter eyes. They’re happy, no matter what, they’re happy.

“I love you.” Yuuri whispers, and Viktor beams, chest pounding in excitement at the confession.

“I love you too.” He whispers back, raising the hand in his own to brush his lips against fingers. “A lot. I love you so much Yuuri I don’t know what to do with all this love.” Yuuri giggles as Viktor continues.

“Keep it safe _da?_ ” Yuuri mumbles, pulling his hands to interlock them with Viktor’s. It’s a cliché but they fit together nicely, with Viktor’s slightly longer fingers curling around the back of Yuuri’s hand in protection. They’re warm.

“I’ll treasure it with my life.” Viktor swears, a heart shape smile invading his face. And just like that, the moment turns light-hearted and Viktor is proclaiming his love in his usual, sappy way. “And I’ll make sure no one else in the world ever touches it! It’s your love you gave me, and I intend for it to stay that way forever!”

Yuuri rolls his eyes playfully, squeezing Viktor’s palm lightly in response. “You’re such a sap.” He jokes.

Viktor pretends to be offended, breaking their hand’s connection so that he can properly wave about frantically. He places his left on his chest and gasps, eyes comically wide with a terrible act of shock. “ _Me!?_ ” He accused, “A sap!? Yuuri I am wounded!”

“Nah, you love me.” He grins, finally deciding to stand and put the dishes away much to his husband’s chagrin.

“Of course I do! And your family! And the Russian skating team, and the Nishigoris and Phichit and Chris and Yuri—“ He pauses, considering his list as he counts his fingers. Yuuri watches him from where he’s standing, balancing the plates as he pulls aside the paper divider. Viktor wanders after him in order to continue his rambling, and Yuuri only continues to smile.

“I swear Yuuri, when we find that boy, I’m sewing GPS trackers into his clothes, all of them, even his underwear, that way we’ll never lose him again! Why don’t we have those things already? Unless we do? Yuuri, we gotta find out if these things exist so that we can be prepared for when we have our own kid—“

“When we have our own kid, they’ll probably have a debit card by Yuri’s age and we’ll be able to track them based of their incredibly questionable purchasing habits.” Yuuri snorts, “And I wonder who they’ll pick up _that_ habit from, Mr _I Bought a Pink Cadillac_.”

Viktor groans, slumping onto the kitchen counter as Yuuri loads the dishes into the washer, setting the machine to run its course as he wipes down the table surfaces. Watching Yuuri is mesmerising. “It’s _hot pink_ Yuuri!” Viktor argues, as if it were worthy justification, “But I guess that _is_ pretty smart, to use a debit card and track purchases…”

The room is now silent as Viktor stares dumbfound, having slowly stopped talking mid-excitement. Yuuri pauses to look, and frowns at Viktor’s widening eyes. “Vitya? What’s wrong?”

The man simply bolts from the room, stranding Yuuri instantly as his footsteps grow fainter. There’s not another second spared after that, Yuuri too finds himself rushing through the Onsen, chasing after Viktor like a runaway Makkachin. He doesn’t tire but does find his heart rate increase with concern. Viktor is shuffling through his phone with Yuuri’s laptop on his knee, mumbling incoherently as he scrolls. Yuuri’s question of concern is answered only seconds after that.

“Yuuri! You’re a genius! I love you!” Viktor shouts, swiping across his phone, “We can track Yuri! I can track his recent purchases –“ Yuuri’s eyes widen as he jaw slackens, “I know his card details, I helped him set it up! _Yuuri, we can pinpoint his location through his purchase history_!” He’s repeating himself but he gives no damns as Yuuri practically leaps into Viktor and, in good old Yuri fashion, ‘punches Viktor’s face with his mouth’.

They’re breathing heavily after they part, connected by a stubborn string of saliva that Viktor hastily wipes away. “We’ll need to think about what to tell the bank.” Yuuri says slowly, eyes brightening with hope, “And you can call Phichit and Chris to help log our findings – but Viktor, this is it! We’ve almost done it!”

Yuuri surges forward for a second, more eager time, and they collapse onto the floor in a heap. The pair remain there, permitting their backs to absorb all discomfort as they held each other, practically vibrating with excitement. It isn’t until Mari arrives to ask them what they’re doing that the entire Katsuki family are awoken to the three’s frantic screaming and planning.

“Sleep now, worry later.” Hiroko smiles, but she too can see how it’d be hard to do so with so much restlessness. It’s the first incredibly major breakthrough that they’ve made in finding Yuri, and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t eager too. However Hiroko is also wise enough to know that trying to infiltrate a bank, no matter how questionably legal, is never a good idea to do at 2 in the morning. She’s patiently waiting for the energy to die down before speaking again, reminding them that they’d be able to think clearer if they were well rested. “Yuri will need to use his card to access money, so you don’t need to worry about losing him for now.” She reminds them, playfully scolding Viktor as he bashfully ducks his head.

“Yes, of course.” He agrees, and she appears satisfied with the response, sending Mari out of their room in turn. She watches from the doorway as Viktor quickly jumps into the bathroom to change, and Yuuri pulls back the blankets of their shared bed. She remembers fondly doing the same, but for a much younger, much smaller boy and gushes after him in memory. Once Viktor is done and decides to join his husband, and said husband begins to enter their bed, Hiroko reaches across the wall and switches off the light.

“Sleep is key to strong thought.” She whispers, and the door is closed behind her.

“What does that even mean?” Viktor asks silently, into the night as he flops onto the mattress and pulls up the covers. He feels Yuuri finally relax before pulling him closer, allowing the smaller’s head to nuzzle into his neck.

“I have no idea.” Yuuri admits, “It’s from a really stupid Netflix adaptation of an anime.”

“Oh.” Viktor says, because he wasn’t expecting such an answer.

“Yeah.” he sighs, shaking his head. Viktor can’t see him but feels the movement anyway. “But she refuses to watch the actual anime with me. ‘It’s too long Yuuri, it’s too complicated for me Yuuri, Yuuri, there’s no real hot guys for us to squeal over!’ So I could only show her the movie edition of Death Note.”

“Death Note?” Viktor repeats, intrigued, “What’s it about?”

“A notebook that can kill people?” Yuuri says, as if it’s obvious, “And a super-hot guy called Yagami Light.”

“Super-hot!?”

“Yeah, but not as hot as you obviously. I’ll show it to you later, when we get Yurochka back, and we can all watch it together.” Viktor likes the sound of that, and he decides that he’s going to add the suggestion to his infamous list of reasons why he loves Yuuri. In fact, anything with Yuuri is something he’s guaranteed to love, but for some reason, he finds this future activity all the more special.

The promise is everything and more.

 

* * *

 

 

There are four accounts in the voice channel; _Peachit, Otabeka, YuuYuuKatsuu_ and _Milililililila,_ and 11 total in the server, each with a different colour and a different role tag. Phichit is proud of himself for having _finally_ cultivated a figure skating discord server _including_ the almighty coaches, however his plans for his empire must be put on hold, until a vital member can be found.

All but _Peachit_ are muted, courtesy of said man, who had deemed himself the one to have admin controls and no other. Fair enough, he _had_ set everything up from the basic general chats, to the exclusive bot chats, to the even more exclusive _NSFW bot chats_. He pretends to not read the backlog and laugh at those who were _actually_ using the waifu and husbando bots committedly.

But Phichit isn’t the one who talks, he’s busy petting Makkachin, sending Viktor and Yuuri their daily photo, this time featuring a certain blond who’s doing the talking for him. Chris rolls his eyes before quickly posing for the camera, and despite not being able to hear anyone at that moment, he’s almost positive they collectively groan.

“Alright, we’ve done a little digging.” He says, eyeing Phichit warningly. The look is somewhat playful, and rather questionable as to how effective it would be in getting the Thai man to behave, but the results speak for themselves _literally_ as he decides it’s his turn to explain.

The video input is of a shared screen, displaying the data that they’d managed to scrape up, neatly organised into a table with stores and costs in comparison. “This was what his transaction history read out, and as you can see it’s a little vague. I think it’s for reasons exactly like what we are doing. Illegal? Yes. But I’m doubting right now that Yuri would actually charge us with anything.” The screen scrolls through, not listing what had been purchased, but the frequency over the past few days.

So Yuri’s shopping spree was a _little_ obscure, or so the history of purchases had made out to be.

“If we look to when he starts getting consistent, the first store we recognise is a 7/11… and then these foreign ones; Myer, Target… Big W…” As Phichit reads the list, Chris logs down everything into the google document, updating the information they have. There’s a distorted murmur from the rather large voice text chat – because skype simply wasn’t as proficient in organisation apparently.

Phichit unmutes the accounts, and allows for questions to be asked. There’s background noise from every call except Yuuri and Viktor’s, and Phichit is thankful that his friend is well rehearsed in the etiquette of online chats.

“One at a time!” Yuuri mumbles hurriedly, voice cutting through everyone else’s, “Mute yourself unless you’re going to talk, we’ll go in a circle, Mila first.” The chat fills with a multitude of red lines crossing out microphones, leaving _Milililililila_ and _Peachit_ the only ones to be heard.

“What on earth is a _Big W_?” Mila pipes up, audibly messing around with her keyboard. “A department store?”

“They’re all department stores.” Chris begins, “And they’re all unique to one place.”

The concept of ‘one at a time’ is immediately thrown out of the window as all accounts unmute themselves in haste. Amidst the chaos, Phichit can make out at least _one_ question, but who had been asking and directed to whom, was lost in the sea of people speaking. He sighs, rubbing Makkachin’s ears; Chris nods in understanding.

“Sara darling, can you speak louder?” he says, and there’s a second of fussing as Michele is quietened down. It’s not a surprise, no one needs to hear the protective brother’s protests to know that he found Chris’ ‘darling’ too ‘suggestive’.

“Mickey _ma vaffanculo!_ Seriously!” No one knows what she said, except for Mila who makes sure to let out a snort and her brother who can be heard gasping. Chris makes the assumption that the Italian skater had said something unprecedented, to have caused such reaction. “Uh, I said not exactly – as in, I swear I’ve been to a Target in America before. If these places were all exclusive to one; America, then I’d have at least recognised the other brands, which I don’t.”

“Counterpoint.” Phichit pipes up, and now it’s his turn for the grand reveal. Admittedly, this point had stumped Viktor, Yuuri, Chris and himself too, but after a little more digging the solution had become apparent to their search. “The Target we are specifying is actually not a part of that same Target brand of chain. In other words, Australia have their own, non-related company called Target.”

“He’s in Australia!?” Yakov calls out stunned, his voice now overtaking the channel. “What is that boy _trying_ to do? Get killed by the wildlife!?”

Phichit does his best to not wince in response, allowing for the man to have his rant. He can distinctively hear Lilia making some comments in the background, something like tuts and sighs of disapproval before realising that _Otabek is with them_ and he’s not said a single word.

“Okay, I’m pretty sure you know that Australia isn’t _entirely_ desert and bush.” Viktor says, but his tone of voice betrays his underlying fear. He’s not stating a fact, he’s trying to reassure himself, and Phichit honestly feels sorry for the poor man.

“And anyway!” Yuuri cuts in, voice oddly bright and cheery. Phichit knows there’s desperation, has heard this forced strain before, and is certain that his friend is trying to think positively for his husband’s sake. “It means we have a closer proximity of where he could be!”

His pocket buzzes three time, and Phichit feels for the device that rests there, pulling his attention away from the ongoing discussion. It’s discord, on Chris’ account, because of course the phone he’s holding isn’t his and actually the Swiss’. He doesn’t even question how he’d mixed the two up as he pawns the device over to its owner. Chris stares back at him with a raised eyebrow, hesitantly taking the phone in hand.

There’s a lingering tension in the air, an unspoken word that’s on the tips of their tongues. No one wants to ask it until they do. “But?” Georgi cuts in, and just like that, the hopeful moment turns reluctant.

He doesn’t want to be the bearer of bad news; Phichit Chulanont isn’t one for such pessimistic things, but he knows that it’s got to be said regardless. “Well, the ‘but’ of this scenario is… the card got temporarily disabled.” He sucks in a deep breath. ”Disabled before we could see if he’d visited a store specific to one area.”

Chris sighs, handing over his phone to Phichit as he addresses the voice chat. The screen is dark with white letters; a private message from a user called _DJBeka_. Phichit thumbs through the rather short conversation.

“Which means he’s stuck there without money for one, and two, we have no other way of figuring out where he is.” There’s a steady silence as everyone takes in the news.

“Shit.” Lilia breaks the quiet with a huff, unlike the usual prim and proper form she held.

 No one else makes a comment though, simply choosing to mumble in agreement.

 

* * *

 

 

Otabek considers his actions before he decides to go through with his plan. It’s stupid, he wants to tell himself that reaching out to the Thai or Swiss skater was asinine, and getting even more involved was an unwise decision, but for the life of him, Otabek _knew_ he couldn’t sit and wait for results. Like a fidgety sort of restlessness had settled deep into his bones, there’s a trembling sensation that spreads across his entire body, _itching_ for him to do something. He has to, he can’t sit, he can’t stay still – _be useful_.

Before he knows it, he’s using his second discord account. It’s his most used one, mainly reserved for anonymity online since his other is currently engaged in the voice chat, still on mute but being haphazardly controlled by Yakov and Lilia. He’s not paying attention, he’s thinking about what he’s going to do. Like a mantra in his head, words repeat themselves until he’s sure he’ll be muttering them in his sleep; _do something, do something, do something_.

Slowly, he pulls up his contacts, adding Chris’ as a pending friend request, before waiting for the accepted invitation and beginning a chat. He isn’t so sure how to ask exactly, or what he’s going to ask in general, and he’s aware that it’d be smarter to tell Yakov what he plans to do before he makes the commitment. But it’s too late and by the time Chris tells him he’s handing the phone over to Phichit, Otabek has to scramble for a logical explanation as to what he wants. _What does he even want to do?_

_‘I need to go with Viktor and Yuuri to Australia’_ he begins, rereading his message afterwards to double, triple check it makes sense. It’s a little pathetic he thinks, considering he was the reason everyone was in such a mess, but if he doesn’t face his problem head on, he knows he’d be a coward too.

Yuri doesn’t like cowards, _“There’s no reason to be one!”_ he’d say. Otabek can recall the times where the teenager simply went _“It is as it is, now get on with it!”_ like there was no such thing as the word fear. Well, there most certainly was, yet he wishes he could be that confident all the same. Otabek feared many things in this predicament – so many, Yuri would most certainly be disappointed in him.

But then, wasn’t Yuri already?

His phone pings with the familiar notification sound from Discord, alerting the Kazakh man of the _‘Totes get that’_ as the other’s reply. The abbreviation and simplification are almost a little lacklustre of emotion but he doesn’t pay that any mind – intentional or not, he deserves it. Another ping; ‘ _I’ll tell them ur on ur way to Hasetsu? Easier if u meet there.’_

Otabek sucks in a breath. The last thing he wants to do, and that being most certain of, is becoming intrusive or imposing. _‘I can meet in Australia??? I don’t want to waste their time waiting.’_ He texts back, staring absently at the dark screen.

It takes a little longer for Phichit to respond this time, and the small identification label reading that he’s typing does nothing to hide Otabek’s nerves. Disappearing and reappearing, he could track Phichit’s pauses and rephrases, mapping out just what exactly the young man was trying to say. Finally the message comes through, and Otabek feels that he can at last, breathe easier.

_‘We still have to find specific spot. Could be a little longer until then but we r trying to match airport flights w when he left, so far he’s in one of three states, but he could have moved.’_ The paragraph breaks into a second, and it feels almost like a miniature essay. ‘ _IDK if this is gonna help but no one blames u man. Yuuri and Viktor don’t at least if ur worried bout that, but I told them ur going there so u gotta text them ur flight deets and they’ll get u at airport.’_

He pauses his thumbs, unsure with how to reply, let alone start a conversation with Yuuri and Viktor. He doesn’t deserve to be treated so forgivingly in his honest opinion, and the guilt still gnaws at him from within. Suddenly, reaching out to Phichit and Chris makes even less sense than it first had, and he’s left searching for a logical explanation as to why he didn’t just immediately message the couple in the first place.

Oh well, another mistake he supposes, what’s important is that he’s trying to correct that right?

The affirmation in his brain doesn’t do anything but make him think more. Looking up he meets gaze with Lilia, and her piercing eyes practically read him like a book. She somehow knows just how much pain he’s in, understands the inner turmoil like a second nature and for that, he’s rather thankful. Not a single word has been said, and yet she nods as if all had been told.

“Start packing, I’ll fill Yakov in.” she whispers, returning back to the ongoing discussion. Otabek sits there for a moment, blinking as he registers what has just happened, and then he nods, for no one but himself, before rising from his seated place and returns to the guest room he’d used.

He feels his phone ping again, this time the notification being that of a text. He doesn’t need to look at who the sender is or what the message entails, he can already tell from the strange heavy feeling in his pocket. It buzzes again, and somehow only seems to grow heavier, a hand reaching inside to pat the device carefully. Were text messages always so weighted, or was it merely Yuri’s own phone, kept safe since he’d left it, adding to the additional mass?

He finds himself wandering down the hallway, passing by the room in which Yuri had been using for the majority of his stay with Lilia and for a second, he swears he hears his name, calling out to him from the empty space. It’s ridiculous, he’s well aware, and yet there’s an odd _something_ calling him, beckoning for him to come closer.

Otabek blinks at his hand, resting precariously against the brass doorknob. Sneaking a glance into the living room, he notes that Lilia and Yakov are still on the chat, and it appears that this predicament will remain that way for quite some time. He pauses with hesitance as his wrist turns anticlockwise, and his breath hitches as he hears the door lock slide open with a click.

Trespassing into the teenager’s room was something he knew he shouldn’t do, he’d already declined entering while Lilia scavenged the place for any clue as to where the child could possibly have went. All attempts in vain; he hadn’t returned home since arriving in Kazakhstan. It’d be hypocritical of him to back down from his previous statement now, and yet the echoing in his head only grows stronger, so with a final push, he lets the door open soundlessly.

It’s messy and unkempt, and he thinks he can see a few hair balls piled under the bed. Obviously those would be Potya’s, the skater’s cat, who was probably dozing somewhere within the room itself. He slowly eases his way into the room and look around. It’s stereotypically a teenager’s room, clothes strewn across the ground, both clean and some desperately in need of laundering. There’s food wrappers, of all sorts of snack bars and junk foods he knows aren’t apart of his athletic diet. The bedspread is left a mess, with quilts and pillows haphazardly discarded from when he’d last woken up there.

Aside from that, it’s rather bland.

Otabek does a double take at the room and realises; there’s _nothing_ in there to indicate that Yuri was living in the space. There’s no photos, no posters, no collectibles, plushies, heck, even _colour_. The sheets and mattress are dressed in something Lilia must have had spare and the more he looks, the more he realises that his clothes are in two piles, and that there’s a vacant space for what _should_ be a suitcase between them. He walks to the closet and opens it, eyes scanning over the bare shelves. Yuri doesn’t live here, no matter how many months or seasons he spends, he’s merely staying like some sort of permanent fixture at a hotel.

It’s rather saddening.

Slowly, the Kazakh skater turns around, finally spotting the hellcat Yuri owns, curled in a corner of the room and dozing peacefully. Beside her is an assortment of toys, her carrier, litterbox and more toys, and only then does Otabek consider that perhaps Yuri’s cat has a more personal touch to his own bedroom than himself.

He sees the glint of medals beside her, and carefully gets onto his hands and knees to retrieve them from under the bed.

“Altin? Where have you--What are you— oh you found them!” Lilia’s voice cuts into the room as he quickly crawls out from the cramped space, mindful for his head. His hands are full with what looks like a Tupperware container, covered in dust, a couple ants and Potya’s fur. He frowns at the treatment such prizes have been given, hesitantly looking over to the older woman.

“Miss Baranovskaya.” He breathes, a little lost for what to say, “I um… I shouldn’t be here, I’m sorry I—“

“I don’t care.” She waves a hand dismissively, reaching for the plastic box cradled in his arms. Otabek reluctantly hands them over, confusion written across his face. “He told me he lost these you know.” She tuts, as if scoffing at the ludicrousness of such excuse.

“He… lost them?” Otabek’s eyes land on the golden medal that gets pulled out, recognising it as the very one that the boy had won the year before in his first Grand Prix of the senior division. Why was it so carelessly tossed under his bed? Hadn’t Yuri been gloating about that award for months? He turns to observe the empty room, eyebrows furrowed in observation. “Why is he… why does…”

“I know what you mean.” The woman sighs, and once more she seems to know everything without much more than a few stunted words. “I always assumed that he never viewed this place as a home and that’s fine.” There’s a heavy pause, “But I knew that meant he considered his grandfather’s place in Moscow his home. Now that Nikolai Plisetsky has passed…”

The implications of the matter were understood, and so Otabek nods in turn. “But the medals?”

Lilia slowly pulls each one out, counting the precious metals in wonder. “They’re all here.” She breathes, fingers tracing the delicate patterns. “Every single one he’s ever won… in this… children’s lunch box under his bed.” They’re laid on the empty bed and Otabek helps to order them from first to last. Once done, he looks back and widens his eyes. It’s like a story being told from each ribbon and metal, delving into the life of Yuri.

His nails catch onto the uneven surface of the first few, and the surface is noticeably rougher and worn out, as if thrown and battered on the ground. “Lilia, they’re… these ones are all…” He stares at the unnatural groves and discolouration, taking in the worn fabric of the medal’s ribbon. Some even are torn.

“They’ve been neglected.” Lillia notes, eyes squinting in disbelief. “These ones are all broken, look, this silver was cleanly cut in half.” She sits back, eyes furiously scanning each for every imperfect detail, only to pause at the more recent awards. “But these last five or so are perfectly fine… Why would that boy..?”

“—they’re going to keep regular updates apparently but apart from that there’s really not much— what are you two doing in here?” Otabek jumps while Lilia swiftly turns towards the doors, silently debating how to respond as Yakov pushes the door open a little. It’s clear that he’s reluctant to enter such a personal room, but he too seems to realise the true lack of distinction it’s been given.

“I was on my way to pack, I’ll be going to Japan as soon as possible.” Otabek splutters for an explanation, “But I wanted to um… well I passed here and…” His voice dies in his throat but thankfully neither Yakov nor Lilia push for an explanation. Instead, the older coach follows in, and looks at his ex-wife, giving a questioning look as he observes their previous interests.

“Yakov, we found Yuri’s medals.” Lilia begins, almost accusingly. She carefully hands him the formerly broken silver medal, revealing its cracks and crevices as well as torn ribbon. The inquisition goes unsaid, and yet Yakov seems to know exactly what she’s asking.

“Well it’s been a while since I’ve seen these.” He mutters, chuckling darkly. “He kept them in there?”

“It was under his bed.” Lilia hesitates, snapping her head in the direction of the other awards. “Why are these ones all… damaged? I know you know.” Her tone isn’t as harsh as it had been before, and Otabek is surprised at how gentle she’s managed to sound. Yakov merely sighs, a hand rubbing at the back of his neck as his gently places the shiny thing down on the bed. He picks up another, bronze this time, and Otabek realises just how _destroyed_ it is.

It’s got three gaps spaced out through its main body, and the edges are no longer circular. Some of the metal is bent in odd upturned spaces, like a dog-eared page of a book and there are five lines, separating the medal into seven unequal pieces. The ribbon isn’t even in one piece, it’s tied together in a knot and the ends have been burned with a flame to prevent fray. The bronze is utterly disfigured, tormented and abused in its state, and Otabek can see parts of metal glue keeping the bonds together.

“Of course I know.” Yakov says slowly, a thumb running over the crack, “I was the one who fixed them every time they came back broken.” His voice his unusually soft for such a gruff personality, but Otabek is too focused on just how bad the medal’s condition is.

“You fixed them?” He echoes his thoughts, “What happened? It looks like it was run over by a car!” He can see discolouration in the bronze, reflecting the scrapes and scratches only concrete could make. The medal glimmers in the light twice as strongly because of this, and it’s almost ironic how something so tragic can be so beautiful.

“Well, most of them, Vitya fixed the silver from his Junior Prix.” Yakov explains, pointing to the last silver that was broken. It had significantly less damage than the other medals, a few scratches and dents and a very carefully reconstructed line for a crack. Otabek could see Viktor’s immaculate handiwork, but had to wonder what else the figure skater knew. “And the reason it looks like it’s been run over by a car is probably because it has been.” He chuckles, but his voice is so restrained, so sad, and Lilia’s eyes, for the first time, are blown wide with shock.

“A _car_?!” She repeats.

“ _Da_ , a car.” Yakov confirms with a nod. “You know how he’s the breadwinner Lilia, this was the punishment for anything less than gold.”

Otabek’s breath hitches in his throat as his heart thuds loudly in his chest. With closer examination, he takes note in those that are broken and sees that only bronze and silver are what were malformed. The rare gold in between are pristine, well kept, and yet the rest are completely ruined, leaving a story to form within his head.

“They _broke_ them?” Lilia rephrases, astounded. A hand flies to her face as she gasps, gently picking up the medals.

“I thought you would have known?” Otabek frowns, turning to Lilia. The woman merely shakes her head, remaining silent as she recognises the golds and then turns to stare at Yakov.

“Lilia only met Yuri after the junior grand Prix.” Yakov explains, eyeing the last broken silver, “Before then, he was his family’s income, yet they never really showed any appreciation for him anyway.” He slowly places the tattered medal down on the bed, tapping gently on the silver beside it. “He’d send them home his medals, back when he did local competitions. He told me they’d pawned off his other awards for money, so he figured they’d do the same with these international medals.”

Otabek stares absently at them, and wonders just how much he doesn’t know about the teenaged boy. It gets his brain worked up, and he wants to so desperately hug him, but the physical limitations only frustrate him further.

“But as you can tell, along with 25% of his earnings and sponsorship money, they blew the medal off and grew mad when it was nothing more than a silver.” Yakov sighs, and slowly, one by one, he places them back inside the tupperware container, closing the lid gently.

Otabek grows numb as the man continues. “When he’d gone home, they… didn’t treat him good. They broke it in front of him and forced him to get better. They’d even asked me to… to force him to do more than necessary for a boy that age, and when I’d tried to explain why forcing a child to do the equivalent of an Olympian was blatant torture, they didn’t listen. So, when he’d come back with bronze… they did _that_ to it.” He gestures a hand to the box, roughly pointing out the worst of the bunch. “They threw it at his feet, by his head, trying to scare him into doing better… then his grandfather had heard and Yuri was placed under his care. Considering the circumstances, he was providing and being neglected, it was considered the best option. Nikolai was always a great man, the reason Yuri was able to do ice skating…” Yakov breaks off heavily.

The box is handed to Otabek, and with the plastic beneath his fingertips, the medals suddenly feel much heavier now that he knew the story behind them. A burden of a weight, something so terrible now associated with the image of a medal. It was no wonder that they’d all been hidden in such a place. Lilia eyes the box curiously, lips pursed as she considers the story. “But there are still silver and bronze medals broken after his change of legal guardian.’ She points out, “There’s about four of them.”

“Well, He still tried to appease them.” Yakov sighed, “Kids… they don’t usually have such things happen to them and I suppose Yuri wanted to rekindle the loss… Regardless, they broke them and sent them back, telling him he was unworthy. After that bronze, he never sent them anything again.”

“But there’s a silver, for one of the competitions to qualify for the Junior Grand Prix.” Otabek frowns, spotting the slightly tainted medal. It had been the one least broken of them all, the one that Viktor had mended, and suddenly it was clear that this one had been different from the others.

“The one Viktor fixed?” Yakov questions as Lilia distractedly takes the box back from Otabek. “His family didn’t break that one. He did.” The woman beside him slowly stands, and makes her way over to the teen’s bed silently. She bends her knees, what was usually poised now bent, and she slouches for the first time he can ever recall, crawling on her own hands and knees to shuffle the box back where it’d come from.

There’s dust on her hands as she stands up, merely wiping them over her clothes without the care her character usually has. Her eyes are void of any disgust and it confuses Otabek even more. “I’m guessing pressure?’ She asks, returning to the two males. “Like a reminder of failure? So he broke it because he’d been conditioned into thinking a silver is worthless when he achieved a personal best for that competition.”

Yakov nods gravely. “When Vitya saw it, he immediately tried to stop Yura from repeating such things. After being told about what happened to the other medals and seeing them himself… he ended up buying that box and telling Yuri to put them there instead. Less dangerous, less damage.”

He isn’t so sure how to respond to such story, and Otabek almost finds himself wishing he’d never known, despite how selfish it sounds. Silver and bronze were not easily damaged metals, it’d take a lot of force to even consider breaking something in two let alone multiple pieces, and to hear that they’d been thrown _near_ him in an attempt of scaring a younger, more vulnerable boy, Yuri’s behaviour and arrogance only seems to make that much more sense.

“You said you’re going to Japan?” Yakov’s voice cuts into the air like a skate’s blade, and for a second time, Otabek jumps in surprise. “Hurry and get packing, Vitya and his Yuuri are probably going to be waiting for you, best not keep them waiting.”

“Yes.” Lilia agrees, and then she too is standing, shaking her head as if to rid herself from her previous thoughts. She ends up ushering everyone out of the room, and carefully closing the door behind her as they left. “Get your things, we’ll take you to the airport.”

Otabek turns to look at them with a hesitant gaze before nodding minutely. They don’t say anything more as he hurries to his room, the spare room, and they make no comment as he approaches them to leave. It’s only as he leaves the car that Yakov finally turns to acknowledge him for a final time, and Lilia nods in departure as he closes the car door. “Find Yura.” Yakov says. “Please.”

The car turns around in what could only be considered an illegal manoeuvre but nobody shows any signs of giving a damn. He grips the handle of his own suitcase tightly, and before he knows it, Otabek is as alone as the day Yuri had disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one didn't actually didn't take as long as I thought it would, considering I got super caught up into the final scene. To be honest, the final scene with Otabek is probably my favourite one in this story, and fun fact, I was actually gonna cut it slightly shorter and not include it originally but changed my mind.
> 
> As always, long chapter; I may have missed some things when editing, so feel free to leave comments!
> 
> (This chapter isn't beta read)


	9. The Places You’ll Go, the People You’ll Meet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ”What am I? A vegetable?” Yuri had called out, irritation written so neatly across his face. He immediately regretted saying that as Viktor had pulled his then much shorter body, into a warm embrace, dragging his namesake into the hug as well.
> 
> “Yura! And Yura too! We’re like a family and you’re our adopted son!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually finished this one in time! Wow! Also I'm starting to think I'll be keeping the chapter around this length? Just because If I go any more it may start to get a little ridiculous. I Already think it's a little ridiculous.
> 
> And it's been a bit since a Yuri cut scene has happened hmm? I honestly just love writing for him. (Maybe a little too much)

His bank account is significantly lighter than when he had first arrived; almost $13,000 lighter, and he knows that if anyone were to view his card history, they’d be both shocked and impressed with how careless he’s been.

It’s ironic, Yuri thinks, especially with the knowledge that money certainly didn’t grow on trees and he’d had to earn every cent on his own. But at this point, what did it matter? Surely he could allow himself to indulge every once in a while? It wasn’t as if he was a shopaholic like _some_ people he knew. Yuri was safe, he knew control, and with that mantra repeating itself in his head, he allowed himself an excuse, _just this once_.

It had been a long time since he’s emptied his bank account for anything more than $100 at a time, and the motion of swiping a card or typing a pin number was almost as liberating as skating itself. He wasn’t entirely concerned with the costs either, he’d had plenty of experience with sparing large sums in the past before. The portion he’d just spent would otherwise equate to what was considered a _slither_ he once gave his family, and for that, the loss almost felt normal.

Admittedly, it _did_ sound like a rather Viktor thing to do, to be spending and spending without repercussions, but Yuri knew when to cut it off, or so he reassured himself; he couldn’t pay much care anyway. Care wasn’t a currency after all.

His feet are clad in newer shoes, from a store brand which therefore automatically means it doesn’t gain the Nikiforov seal of approval. But they _looked cool_ alright? And since when did he worry or even want to _think_ about stupid, old skaters with inflated egos? Yuri’s proud of his purchases – big combat boots with leopard print – and complete with a $35 tag. His waist is accessorised with a green plaid jacket, new of course, and replacing the Russian skater jacket he’d brought originally, while the largest pair of sunglasses found possible adorn his face. He looks like a biker chick straight from a chic flick – a new term he’d learnt after discovering the wonders of movies such as _Mean Girls_ on his hotel TV. 

It’s only when he’s buying a $50 pair of ripped jeans that he realises he may have a slight problem, eyeing the cart in hands that had steadily accumulated to the equivalent of a large orphanage’s clothing stock. His hands tighten around the plastic as he stares, the jeans in hand as he fiddles with the loose threads.

_What was he doing?_

Slowly, he steps aside and observes the mountain of fabrics in front of him, they’re cheap, considering he’s in a department store, but together there’s almost a guarantee that the number racks up into the thousands. This ‘treat yourself’ moment had long surpassed the ‘treating’ landmark and had now definitely progressed into dangerous waters, drawing him up to almost ‘Viktor Level’. With a scowl, he slowly places the jeans back on the rack, turning on his heel to march out of the small department store.

_He isn’t like Viktor okay?_

“Aye, you good kid?” A woman calls out to him, side stepping as he passes. He turns to her with a sneer, frames hiding the true hostility written across his face as he mocks her. He wasn’t in the mood for friendly ‘assistance’ thanks. She eyes the cart he’d abandoned in anticipation, frowning when it became clear he wasn’t going to be putting any of the mess he’d made away.

He smirks inwardly, the insinuation that the poor sale’s assistant would be the one packing it all up sounding almost rewarding, but Yuri’s delight in the matter is merely temporary, and soon, with nothing to do, his mind begins to wander. He weaves between the clothes racks as he works his way out of the heart of the store, something called _Big W_ , as he eyes the self-service checkouts. His eyes scan the shelves for last minute purchases, and he realises for a moment that he’s subconsciously searching for something as he feels his body move towards the shelves as if on autopilot.

It’s a magazine, his brain decides, covered in pink and white and most definitely stereotypical for girly girls into gossip and the latest tea. The cover has the title printed in large letters, flowers adorning the corners as the remaining page is coated with a double spread picture. Yuri blinks, eyes wide as he recognises who he sees. He tentatively reaches out and pulls a copy from the rack, fingers thumbing at the page delicately.

“Oh, are you a fan of them too?” A woman calls out with a kind smile. She’s elderly, holding a walking frame as she steps beside Yuri, eyes observing the picture. “My grandson talks about them I think… figure skaters.” She takes a copy off of the shelf and flicks through it, pausing at a second double spread in the heart of the magazine. It’s a poster, one that little girls could pull out and unfold to be three times as big, and Yuri realises it’s an even bigger photo of the cover image.

“No… I’ve never heard of them.” he lies, flicking to the centre himself. The image is folded but he can identify one of two sky blue eyes, smiling cheerfully across the page. He turns to the woman with a lack of malice behind his voice, he isn’t one to give the elderly a heart attack after all, and instead raises an eyebrow at her questioningly.

Oh, – _she doesn’t recognise him_.

For once there’s an odd feeling in his gut that churns about at the thought. He isn’t used to _not_ turning heads, or people gawking at him as he passed, so much so that usually, he’d ignore their reactions after being exposed to such treatment for so long. He hadn’t even realised that no one was staring until the woman was, which despite being the very thing he’d always dreamed of, to blend in, now it only left a bitter taste in his mouth.

 _No one knows you_.

He’s brought back to the real, present time as the lady continues to talk, and Yuri pays more attention, hands tightening around the copy of magazine in his hands. “You should search them up.” She smiles, “They’re very good… Ah… what’s their names… the little one is Yumi? Yusa? Kori? Yuri I think… can’t remember the other two, but yes, Yuri, he’s my grandson’s favourite.”

He tries his best to not give himself away, channelling years of repressive emotions into the very moment. No smiling, sneering, gasping, eyes widening, nothing. He also makes no remark on being called ‘little’, no matter how much he wants to defend himself, and instead chooses to focus on what the woman had said. He tilts his head, compliments whizzing over it, “How old is your grandson?”

“Oh… Jason is about your age I’d say.” She laughs, turning to him in thought, “I think I might buy this magazine for him actually.”

“That’s a… good idea.” Yuri nods in agreement.

The woman proceeds to stare at the image covering the front, displaying a range of colourful outfits and people on a podium. “Well, I’m glad I have your approval.” She grins, eyebrows furrowing in concentration. “You seem troubled by this however.”

Yuri shakes his head vigorously, stuffing the slightly crumpled magazine back on the stand with the others. His face along with Yuuri and Viktor’s smile up at him mockingly, in a hundred clones of the same moment, captured by the photographer. When had the image been licenced? He could clearly recall the photoshoot so specifically, it had been a day full of practice when reporters had swarmed the ice rink and asked for a ‘candid photo of the figure skating family’.

He realises he hasn’t answered the grandmother, offering a sheepish smile. Was it obvious that he didn’t like the magazine? Had he acted in some way that caused her to grow suspicious? Was this how he’d get caught out? He thinks that he must look odd, and struggles to force a sentence out.

“It’s nothing, they just remind me of some people.” He chooses to say, voice sounding much more fatigued than expected. He wasn’t in the mood to rant to a complete stranger, no matter how kind she was. She almost reminded him of his grandfather – and that was enough alone to trigger the tears.

 _He didn’t_ _let them fall._

“Well, I don’t know how much help I can offer.” The lady says slowly, “But I’ll tell you what I always tell my grandson whenever he struggles with something. It’s good to take a step back and think, but don’t take so many that you trip and fall. In another sense, you eventually have to start walking forward again.”

Yuri nods, but knows he doesn’t really mean much by the action. He’s accepted her advice and listened, but nothing more will come of it. The elderly lady pats his shoulder softly, in a comforting sort of touch that breaks something inside of him, but Yuri keeps his composure before eyeing the magazine in the woman’s hand.

He didn’t think he’d run into people who’d know him here. Of course, people stared for his loud appearance and he’s sure if he’d posted something about where he was then a flock of his rabid fangirls would track and swarm him in an instant. But Australia hadn’t been a country where figure skating was the main attraction – that had been reserved for something called _AFL_ and rugby… footy. To hear such a kind-hearted comment, said with so much conviction, and unknowingly to the very person they were talking about, that made him feel lighter, like he was genuinely being acknowledged. Yuri allowed his face to form a tiny smile.

“Can I see that magazine for a second?” He finally decides, before he can convince himself otherwise and snatches a pen from the display stand readily. Convenient, how the store has just about anything you need at an arm’s reach.

_He really shouldn’t._

The book is slowly given to him, with a questioning “Why?” leaving the other’s lips. He doesn’t answer, and instead allows the woman to raise an eyebrow at him, watching his movements carefully as he flicks to the poster in the centre. His eyes scan the folded image, anchoring in on green irises as the pen clicks twice, once to open it and once to close, with a swirl of movements in-between. Once finished, he carefully hands the pages back, and allows her to observe his penmanship, before sheepishly staring at her in anticipation.

_Hey Jason, your support means the world to me, thank you! – Yuri Plisetsky_

“Sorry, my handwriting is atrocious but uh… give that to your grandson for me.” He stumbles, a hand pinching the arms of his sunglasses. He tugs them down carefully, blinking at the new shades of light that enter his eyes as the woman stares, dumbfound at his face. This was the reaction he was used to seeing, but even on her face, it was more of a pleasant surprise than hyperactive excitement.

“Well what a turn of events.” She eventually laughs, closing the book carefully, “Thank you for signing this, I appreciate it and I’m sure my grandson will too.”

“It’s no biggie.” Yuri says, glasses slipping onto his nose once more. “Just… don’t tell anyone I was here, kay?”

“You have my word.” The woman smiles. It’s a kind smile that seniors tend to wear almost always, or at least his grandfather did whenever he saw him. “Well, I best be off now, an old lady like me has things to do and places to be surprisingly.” Yuri allows himself to smile just a tad bit more, and feels all the more better for it.

They part ways in what seems almost like a dramatic movie, and admittedly he feels a little saddened to know that he’s on his own again. Her appearance hobbles out of his line of sight, behind the shelves and towards the checkout as he shakes off the feeling of contentment. No point in clinging to things that weren’t permanent – he’d decided this, he chose to come here, and he knows that this is the way things go. Perhaps he’ll keep the woman’s advice in the back of his head, which echoes as he stares at his feet – he makes no guarantees though.

His mind retreats back to the depths of his subconscious as he robotically lifts his legs and thus his body away from the magazine rack. He has no need for the magazine, especially when he has to deal with the real thing back home, and throws it a casual look before turning his head away. He doesn’t look back, and the lump in his throat dies with the rise of his determination.

_Die. Die. Die. Die as many times as you must to be reborn stronger._

There’s not a whisper of wind in the air as Yuri steps outside, and instead he’s overwhelmed with the sudden urge to let his body melt into the floor. If Russia is ice, then this country is its rival with fire, practically transforming the concrete ground into the equivalent of a cooktop. It’s hot, insanely hot – it’s roughly 36 °C hot and he can feel the pores of his skin opening to allow sweat to practically gush from him like a tap. Russia is most definitely not this hot, its average is only 17 °C, and Yuri thinks _that_ is the optimal temperature.

There’s only a few others who appear to be suffering like him, but even they don’t seem so fazed by their reddening bodies. But that’s to be expected, unlike him, they were used to this hellfire. It’s been almost an entire week since his arrival, and since then, Yuri has become accustomed, the best he possibly could that is, to the country he now knows as Australia. Albeit, this place was actually an _island_ and a _flipping desert_ all rolled into one, but the expectation versus reality was far more extreme than he’d first believed.

Then and again, they rarely heard about Australia in school when he’d actually gone, it wasn’t America with its weird gun policies or Europe with the Second World War. He briefly recalled something about the country’s history of bloodshed and segregation, but beyond that he’s rather clueless to anything more. That, and the cultural differences between America, Russia or hell, even Japan, put Australia into a place that screamed danger.

He conveniently forgets the side people drive on, and almost puts an end to his skating career as he hails a taxi. Heart pounding with adrenaline, the driver merely quirks an eyebrow, clearly registering the fact that Yuri must be some crazed kid, before flipping on the GPS beside him. “You high?” He asks, as if it’s a casual thing, and the teen has to stare eye wide in surprise before realising he’s yet to answer.

“No.” he grits out, “Foreigner, I’m not so careless as to put shit in my body.” The driver takes the answer in stride, shrugging his shoulders as he pulls the car out of its brake. He has to wonder what his appearance resembles if a stranger were able to draw the conclusion he’d been on drugs. Had the grandmother though the same? “Hotel. Take me to the 4 Points by Sheraton Hotel.”

He watches the man slowly punch in the address, fingers pressing into the thick screen as the device beeps with every touch. There’s an automated voice, and words, some symbols and numbers that remain on the display, and together they print out a map for the car to follow.

Yuri isn’t so sure if it’s an Australian thing or simply a ‘this guy’ thing, but the peace and quiet he’d otherwise relish in is once more disturbed as the guy tries to make light conversation. Yuri internally groans, feeling the bark in the back of his throat forming as he struggles to hold off a snide remark. The guy continues to talk, about things he’s not paying attention to and doesn’t really care about. His family, his job, his travel, the people he’s met – Yuri replies with groans and nods in accordance like an automatic script.

“So yeah, I thought you mighta been an eshay or some shit.” The guy explains suddenly, and for some reason, it is this moment that Yuri decides to tune back into the conversation.

“The fuck?” He asks, ears perking up at the alien word. “The hell’s an eshay?”

“Huh? Oh yeah, them.” The man snorts, a hand twisting to change some aspect of the car. The teen isn’t certain as to what it is exactly, everything looks unfamiliar to him in comparison to Viktor’s stupid Cadillac. The question was a matter of was the difference because of car models or countries in general and Yuri didn’t have a phone to conveniently confide in google for a result. “Eshays are just the kids that are… I guess you could say a little lost and incredibly expressive.”

_So pretty much someone like him then._

Yuri tries to make sense of the description but decides that those words are simply not making any sense to him, so he nods like he understands before turning towards the windows. “Anyways, enough about me.” The driver begins, “Where’s your parents kid? Are you ok… in trouble?”

The curiosity is simple enough and Yuri supposes that he had a right to ask, especially after seeing someone he considered a child walking about alone and heading to a hotel. He wasn’t a child, but the guy didn’t know more than what he could see, and Yuri honestly didn’t feel like giving an explanation, so he sighs, as if it’s the biggest nuisance in the world to answer such things before shifting away in his seat.

“None of your business.” He mumbles defensively. Regardless of how nice this man is, he’s still a stranger and Yuri still has a sense of pride.

“No it isn’t.” The guy nods, “But I am concerned.” The car goes silent as they turn into the hotel’s driveway, the car bending into a u-turn as it slows to a stop. Yuri’s brain zones in and repeats the words in his ear, echoing as he processes what it all means.

_Why is he agreeing? He’s supposed to disagree!_

He decides he’s had enough and lets out a displeased grunt in warning. Yuri doesn’t like people pleasers – he prefers the silent, traditional, potentially murderous drivers over anyone else, but he’d be damned if he actually said such thing alive. A hand digs in Yuri’s pocket for his card, the security of knowing its presence helping to ease the tension. All he wants to do is pay and leave, the things he could do best aside from figure skating and flipping someone off. So he slaps it across the card reader, rolling his eyes unbeknownst to the other in the car, before he turns his back to open the passenger door. “I have a son around your age, I’m merely speaking from the point of view of a parent.”

_I’m no son, I’m not even a grandchild anymore, you’re story is inexplicable to me._

Yuri pauses, teeth gritting in frustration. Wasn’t it clear he didn’t want to talk? Wasn’t it clear he was uncomfortable? Did he really need to spell it out for him? As his knuckles whiten, he carefully turns around, and for a brief moment, considers the true consequences of punching this total stranger. He decides against it – it’ll only make him more traceable. “Fuck off.” He chooses to say dangerously instead, “You know jack shit.”

“Again, true.” The driver agrees, and his eyes manage to connect with Yuri’s own squinting ones, despite hiding beneath the protection of a tainted screen. “But you do, so take it or leave it, I’m merely making a point.” He pauses as the car chimes, and tears their attention away for but a second. In the corner of the car, beside the wheel, the card reader beeps, flashing red as the taxi driver hums in confusion. “And it looks like your card just got rejected.”

“My card just got rejected.” Yuri repeats, eyes wide as he pulls out the plastic rectangle. He doesn’t know why he expects it to look different, it’s still the same, flashy colour in his hand. A second tap, followed by a second beep, and then a third. It’s mocking him, Yuri’s almost positive and so hastily, he digs for loose cash, thankful that he’d been smart enough to withdraw some earlier. He tosses the rather flat plastic bills down onto the small coffee stand in between the front seats, a few spare silver coins dancing in a twirl as they land. Yuri wrenches the door open decisively, and any forms of protest are left behind as he jumps out.

Slowly, Yuri passes through the security check at the front entrance and begins to make his way through the building. _This isn’t actually rejected, it’s the stupid card reader_ he tries to tell himself, and so he enters the same 7/11 store he’d been in days ago.

_I’ll prove it like I prove everything._

As Yuri enters the small side store, he notices that of course, it’s a different clerk. He honestly doesn’t really care that much for detail however, and experimentally picks up the cheapest pack of gum off of the shelf as he makes his way forward. Once in front of the girl, he sighs, pressing the frames of the sunglasses further into his skull as he slams the small box over the table. The girl doesn’t say anything to him, which is good because it means he doesn’t have to engage in what he assumed would be a boring conversation, and completes the transaction with a hold of his breath, eyes waiting for the screen’s approval.

It doesn’t come, as woefully predicted, and so he harshly snaps the card in his fist as he grits his teeth. If the girl had been unfazed before, she was now, stepping  back as Yuri slams a card filled fist down onto the table, striking it a few more times before abandoning both store and gum in anger. It didn’t change anything, his card was still either hijacked or equivalent and so he grits his teeth with new tears in his eyes.

Great. No help, no phone and now, no money. He is totally, and utterly fucked.

His breaths become deeper as he regains control of his head, turning hotly on his heel as he locates the exit of the store, being sure to knock down the Slurpee cups that rest against one of the self-service tables in the process. Defeated, he passes a small magazine rack on the opposite side of the automatic doors, a piece of paper reading the words ‘free’ in green cursive as his eyes trail the sign towards the booklets. He halt’s in his movements.

 _He should really be getting back to his room to wind down_.

It’s not the same magazine as the one in the department store; this one is designed for an LGBT community themes magazine, and the front features an older, more provocative image on the double spread. It’s of Yuuri and Viktor, no surprise there, wearing rainbow suspenders on top of rather formal fitting dress shirts and pants, arms bent around to hug Yuri in the centre. Their faces are towards him, each pair of lips on his cheeks as he glares into the camera. Yuuri and Viktor are smiling triumphantly, and in this case, Viktor is offering the photographer a side wink.

_How many magazines did this country sell with his face on it?_

Yuri pauses, reviewing the image before reading the tittle, ‘ _LGBT, Family and Me’_ , eyes resting on the large font and decorative image. The bottom hand corner has an exclusive excerpt, and he can tell that the interview must have been from one of Viktor’s shoots ages ago.

His eyes roam the cover, eyeing his own face that stares up at him, a begrudging look smeared into ink. They look rather domestic, and the idea almost grosses him out, that is until he sees the contentment on the other two’s face and the wholesomeness of the photo as a whole.

He can actually remember this photoshoot clearer than the other one, head reeling at the memory of the genuine fun he’d had. He hadn’t let them know that though. Yuuri had been redressed several times before they decided to give the couple matching outfits, and the screech of excitement that burst from Viktor’s lungs was loud enough to let Yuri’s ears ring for days. ” _This is the best photoshoot ever!”_

“ _Eh? You’ve done these things before…”_ Yuuri would know, obviously, seeing as he was Viktor’s number one fan or whatever.

His fiancé at the time, gee, they were married now huh? Had actually began to water up and wave his hands drastically, drying unshed tears to not ruin the makeup team’s stupendous job. Even Yuri had to agree that they really nailed the criteria they were aiming for. _“But Yuuri!”_ Viktor had protested, and the camera crew had to laugh at the man child’s antics, even Yuri thought they were stupid. _“I get to do a photoshoot for Pride Month – AND with my beautiful fiancé!”_

 _”What am I? A vegetable?”_ Yuri had called out, irritation written so neatly across his face. He immediately regretted saying that as Viktor had pulled his then much shorter body, into a warm embrace, dragging his namesake into the hug as well.

“ _Yura! And Yura too! We’re like a family and you’re our adopted son!”_

That was the first time he’d ever been called their son, and back then he’d screeched and bemoaned in protest, claiming that he’d _“Never want to be part of your gay ass family!”_ All the while the rest of the workers had laughed at his antics. It had only prompted him to scream some more, but deep down he knew he felt otherwise. It was a strange concept, and still was, to be considered someone’s family, and Yuri wasn’t sure how to deal with that.

 _“Well the synopsis for next month’s issue fits this as well.”_ The director had called out with a laugh, _“Would you be interested in doing a shoot for that too? It’s all about LGBT families and the progression over time, we could include an interview with one of you as well!”_

There had been a progressive _“Yes!”_ from Viktor and a bashful nod from Yuuri, all while Yuri had groaned aloud. The makeup had been redone, and Yuri had been made to change outfits and into something he’d typically wear at home, and oh lord, how mushy and revolting it all seemed, how _domestic_.

They hadn’t been rehearsed in how to act, but it didn’t appear that they’d need any prompt or coaching with Viktor teasing Yuri and threw himself onto his fiancé. The camera shutter clicked and the flash shone and Yuri eventually lost count of just how many photos had been taken in their time.

He eventually found himself in their embrace again, this time purposefully staring at the camera with his signature lack of amusement morphing into something like a restraint smile, and then Viktor cooed, whispering so quietly a “We love you Yura!” into his ear before the pair kissed his cheeks and the blinding flash captured their moment.

He stares down at the picture and marvels at how it’s framed, and he’s thankful that the camera missed the reddening of his cheeks and wild expression in the aftershock as a result of the couple’s antics. That had been the last photo of the session too, and he was almost certain that Viktor requested for the photos personally.

Yuri reaches a hand out to snag a copy before he can think twice, hastily stuffing it under his hoodie before storming towards the hotel elevator as he jams the button for the lift to be called.

_He felt stupid for caving into such easy demands. What would he do with a poster of himself and the idiots anyway?_

He enters the little lift and pulls out his room key to activate the machine, pressing for his floor as the doors slide shut. He feels the halves of his card lay broken in his pocket as he does this, pulling out the magazine once more. He eyes the cover again, and his heart pounds in his chest at the unfamiliar feeling before he gasps and tears his gaze away from the image. He doesn’t like the feeling in his body, he doesn’t like the way it’s reacting as he stares at the image, Yuri wants it to go, wants it to stop, he recognises it at the thing that scares him.

The elevator dings, effectively dragging him out of his fearful state as brighter lights flood his vision. Not skipping a beat, he makes his way towards his room, jiggling the handle in desperation as the mechanical lock undoes and he’s free to retreat to the comfort of privacy. He places the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign in his wake.

The room is only slightly chilled due to the air conditioner in the back of the room, but Yuri doesn’t mind the cold a single bit. He chooses to then make his way to the balcony, and sits on the warm stone as he lets his body be draped in the sun’s rays. He knows that if he stays for too long he’ll burn, but it’s rather pleasant with the mixture of both shade and light.

The magazine slaps the ground as he lets it fall, taking in more breaths as he recomposes himself. Curiosity was a terrible thing, and yet it drove him insane with the burning desire to simply know and see more about the promised article on page 6. He’d never taken interest in it before, but as the weird english saying goes, or at least how Yuuri had said it went; curiosity killed the cat, and Yuri was most certainly a cat. It’s all or nothing he decides, and before he can put more thought to the matter, he’s flicking through the pages as he skims the bottom for the number indicator.

He hopes that while curiosity kills, satisfaction is what brings the feline back.

“ _Celebrity Spotlight; Katsuki Yuuri”_

His eyes widen, scanning the double spread full of questions and answers. Viktor is also present it seems, towards the end with a few additional comments on whatever Yuuri had mentioned, however the actual interview was done with the Japanese skater. Yuri is surprised, to say the least, having been so sure that Viktor would have been the one to jump up at the opportunity to talk about his ‘makeshift family’. Finding out that it was actually Yuuri who’d spoken was suddenly far more interesting, and so despite the familiar tightness that settles in his chest, he begins to read.

 

**Hello Yuuri! How are you doing today?**

_[Y] Hey Madeline, long time no see? *Laughs* I mean, we did just do a shoot together so I suppose that’s a little redundant._

**Ah well, I can assure you that, that shoot will look fabulous with this interview, so thank you so much for taking the time to do this!**

_Ah no problem! We [Katsuki Yuuri, Viktor Nikiforov and Yuri Plisetsky] all had such a great time, I’m positive the photos will look beautiful!_

They really did, but Yuri would rather be caught dead before admitting that aloud.

 

**You’re too kind! And you too Viktor! Thank you both for joining me!**

_[V] I’m just here to support my beautiful fiancé! And add anything he may have forgotten, but yes! It’s rather exciting to be here!_

_[Y] Viktor!_

***laughs* Well, I’m glad you mention your fiancé, because that’s exactly what I was hoping we’d be able to discuss!**

_Of course! I’m an open book! Or… sort of. I haven’t always been but I’m getting better – Viktor helps with that._

**Is that so? So that kiss on international television must have been a pretty big thing for you then huh?**

_Oh god, jumping straight into it then… I’m still mad at you [Viktor] for that. *laughs* But I suppose so. It was like the beginning of coming out of my shell in means aside from skating. Ah my family called right after screaming in excitement – Japan isn’t big on public displays of affection so it was definitely a shock to some._

_[V] In my defence, I was just too proud_ not _to kiss you._

**At least that reason is justifiable**

_See! Told you Yuuri!_

***laughs* But speaking of shock, had it been difficult for you? Being open about your sexuality?**

_[Y] I mean, I’m very grateful that my family were so understanding, so I’ve never really experienced difficulty when growing up. I know that there are people who do disagree and there was some rather harsh backlash about that international stunt Viktor pulled. *laughs*_

_[V] I am incredibly wounded my Yuuri_

_[Y] Oh no, I hurt your ego._

_[V] Did you see? Madeline he hurts me!_

**You poor, poor thing! *laughs***

_[Y] Don’t encourage him, he’s like a dog I swear. *laughs* But yes, there were some rather harsh comments, but there were far more people being supportive than not so that really helped._

**I’m glad you were able to find comfort in those close to you.**

_Same here. It’s what helped me to not really worry about it all. If anything, the homophobic remarks were merely words._

**Has this greatly impacted your other relationships?**

_Um… I don’t think so, I hope not at least *laughs* I’ve heard a rumour that if someone does say something, Yuri [Plisetsky] will appear at their front door and “deal” with them, so I guess if any relationship has been impacted, it’s been… dealt with. Whatever that ominously refers to. *laughs*_

_[V] Our Yuri can be very protective!_

_[Y] Oh you shouldn’t say that, he’ll read this and get mad *laughs*_

**Coincidentally I was just about to discuss Yuri Plisetsky, what is it that he’s called among the skating community?**

_[V] The Russian Fairy!_

_[Y] Although I think he preferred Ice Tiger of Russia._

**Ah of course. So I understand that he trains with the both of you yes?**

_Sometimes, his coach is still Yakov Feltsman however._

**Well, I’m sure you’ve heard or seen the hashtags regarding the ‘Podium Family’?**

_Podium Family?_

_[V] Yuuri! It’s only the most important hashtag that’s currently trending! How do you not know?_

**Let me grab my phone, we can better explain if I show you.**

_[Y] Should I be scared?_

_[V] Absolutely not moya Zvezda [my star]! You know how we had that talk about the spare bedroom being Yuri’s?_

_[Y] Yeah?... Oooooh!_

**This is currently number one in trending on YouTube, a compilation of the three of you. I was hoping to ask a few questions about it!**

_[V] Oh absolutely!_

_[Y] Oh my gosh this is so adorable… *laughs* I wonder if he’s seen this._

**There’s a good chance of it. How does that make you feel? Seeing the skating and LGBT communities combined, supporting this idea of formed family?**

_Ah well, as I said earlier, I’m still new to the ‘open book’ thing, but if I’m honest, it does feel a little weird. Don’t get me wrong, Viktor and I had already had this idea of the… what was it? Podium family, in our heads. To see millions supporting an idea like this is kinda crazy… but also validating in a way._

**In what way is it validating? Is that to say you’re okay with people considering the three of you as parents and child?**

_When you put it that way it’s a little strange *laugh* but I don’t mind it… Viktor is literally vibrating in excitement so I doubt he does either…*laughs* the one you have to be careful around is probably Yuri, but I bet he’s screaming happily deep down. As for validating? I suppose, tying in with the LGBT theme, it’s nice to know that my family is considered normal, or worth celebrating, which I do agree. It’s just nice._

_[V] Now who’s the one who has to be careful around Yuri?_

_[Y] Like you said, the odds of him reading this are slim to none, he didn’t even ask what the photoshoot was for. If he miraculously finds this among the sea of gossip mags and internet shenanigans, I’ll personally buy him a…. hmm… I’ll get him whatever he wants._

**And what if that ‘whatever he wants’ is something like the entire state of America?**

_Okay anything he wants…. For $100 or less._

_[V] Look at you my Yuuri! Strategical parenting!_

_[Y] Is $100 too much?_

**I mean, considering the odds your facing… potentially. The internet has a way of getting what it wants and if it wants Yuri to find this, it probably will.**

_NOT COMFORTING MADELINE!_

_[V] Not to mention that Yura is always on his phone._

_[Y] I’m definitely gonna lose $100_

**Sadly that may be true. *laughs* If he does find this, you’ll need to update us on the situation.**

_I’m just going to regret making that promise._

**Well, no guarantees there, *laughs* however, we have just about run out of time for this interview!**

_Already? Has it really been an hour? Holy sh*t, time flies fast when you’re having fun._

_[V] Of course you’d know a thing or two about having fun. *winks exaggeratedly*_

_[Y] Oh my god, Viktor Nikiforov no!_

_[V] Viktor Nikiforov yes!_

_[Y] *shaking head* A child, my fiancé is a literal child. Feel free to adopt him._

_[V] Yuuri! So mean!_

***laughs* I know it’s very sad, but we do have to wrap this up unfortunately. Before we go though, here’s a final question Yuuri, you can answer too Viktor!**

_[V] *sighs* My Yuuri is such a tease…_

_[Y] *Glaring*_

_[V] Alright Madeline, we’re ready!_

**Wonderful! *laughing* So, on the off chance that Yuri Plisetsky does see this interview, or perhaps fate will work and he will not, is there anything that you’d like to say to him? Or alternatively, is there anything you _wish_ you could say to him but know that you wouldn’t?**

Yuri sucks in a breath as he pauses, eyes glossing over the italic words beneath the question. He feels the clenching in his chest squeeze at his lungs, and he blinks feverishly in confusion. He wants to know what they’d said, he finds it a miracle in and of itself that the internet hadn’t made it apparent to him before. Does he find the family references strange? Perhaps a little, but he finds that he doesn’t mind it as much as he knows he’d vocally protest. He sighs heavily, shaking his head as if to clear it, before picking the pages up once more. The soft thud of his heart increases and it throbs with the agony he felt before. It turns out that it didn’t leave after all.

_Yuri knows it’s bad. This feeling isn’t good. There’s something here that’s a definite trigger to the gun against his heart._

So Yuri flips the magazine shut and heads back inside; he’s feeling a little sunburnt anyway.

 

* * *

 

 

Phichit scrolls a thumb leisurely down his phone, eyes tracking the various photos that pass. There’s only a few with significance that he likes, namely a post with Mila and Sarah hugging in the airport. _Have a_ safe _flight home!_ He comments, and quickly leaves the tab before her brother could repost a defensive response.

His algorithm hasn’t popped up with anything of significance, there’s been nothing but edits and theories as to the lack of activity across Yuri’s social networks and it’s rather useless in the name of finding someone, but his determination when they’ve come so far outweighs all logic.

From across the room, Chris hums, folding some clothes into the hotel wardrobe; their coexistence with one another had started to develop a routine. As a result, he also grabs Phichit’s blanket from one of the drawers and hands it to him instinctively. “Any news in the world of the internet?”

Phichit shifts aside on his bed, leaving space for the Swiss skater to sit and join him, wrapping them both up in the warm of the fabric. They’d just gotten off the group chat four hours ago, and already the Thai skater was burning his eyes with the flare of his small screen. He rubs them tiredly, knowing fully well that it’d probably just irritate them further. “Nothing.” He sighs, “But I managed to update the algorithm and focus on incoming data purely from Australia.” He swipes across the laptop that rests beside his feet, reviewing three tabs on the desktop as if to demonstrate.

Chris watches before wrapping an arm around Phichit, squeezing his shoulders in a tight, comforting embrace. “His income has been stopped, he won’t be going anywhere by anything but foot. We’ll corner him.” He tries to console, but Phichit merely shrinks in on himself.

“I was thinking about that actually.” He quietly admits, head downcast as his eyes lose focus. “He doesn’t have a phone, and now he has no money. We’re on a ticking time bomb, he’ll eventually run out of food, water, a place to stay… We’ve practically stripped him from basic human rights and left him in a country he has never been to! We were so worried about him getting lost or sick… but now we’ve just increased that chance.”

They’d discussed this very point with the others before, and had tried to find a balance within the pros and cons after Michele, of all people, had made the realisation. Yuuri had _cried_ , and it was the most terrible feeling in the world to be responsible for such reaction. At first Phichit had thought it was because he was part to blame – he still personally thinks this seeing as he was the one who called the bank, however knows that his Japanese friend feels guilt for actually having thought of the idea in the first place.

No one had blamed him, but Yuuri was known to take the heaviest hit from himself.

“We’ve discussed this before no?” Chris points out slowly, “We agreed that it wasn’t the intention and therefore no one’s fault.”

“Yeah, try telling that to Yuuri.”

They sit in silence for a while longer as Makkachin trots into the room, barking happily after a nap. How they’d forgotten the dog’s presence for must have been three hours was a mystery. “Why didn’t we just stay at the newlyweds’ house?”  Phichit thinks aloud.

“That’s… a very good question.” Chris blinks, the sudden change of conversation piquing his curiosity. The large poodle bounds over to them happily, bouncing on top of the bed in excitement and a yelp is released into the air, as if a sign that the beloved pet had agreed.

The a moment of pause where they both look at each other sheepishly, before Phichit pulls out the jumble of keys and keychains from his pocket, dangling the clunky think in front of the other’s eyes. It’s an invitation, asked with only an expression which steals a mischievous grin from Chris as a result. There’s a hot pink key, the metal having been redone to appear in such odd colour of choice, but it’s clear who owns that copy anyway, resting beside a vibrant replica in blue.

Phichit shakes them once, and like that, they bolt up and begin to pack.

 

* * *

 

 

“Oi Mister, can I have your cracker?” the child to his left, Coraline he’d eventually learned, had begged, tugging at Otabek’s sleeve. She tugs and tugs and tugs, no relenting until she has his undivided attention, eyes widening into something she’s sure she can utilize.

“Sure, here.” He hands her the small packet on the fold up tray, assisting her with opening the air locked bag that the air hostess had given him, and smiles softly. Her brother, Jerimiah, is asleep on his right, small head resting against his arm as he dozes with brown hair curling around the seats. Anyone that sees them could think he was their older brother, and they’d be none the wiser.

“Yay! Thank youuuuu!” She begins to munch on the bland things, somehow finding the taste extraordinary as Otabek taps the small display in front of him, eyeing the flight trail the plane had decided to take. There was still 6 hours to go according to the map, and already, Otabek was babysitting for two children whose parents were who knows where.

He doesn’t know how he’d roped himself into this situation, boarding an almost 10 hour flight to Japan while being sandwiched between two children. He finds he should be rather unfortunate if he were anybody else, having to deal with barely 12 year olds and their antics, but for some reason it is simply not the case.

He doesn’t complain, not entirely a surprise there considering he does have quite the patience for people; it’s a welcoming distraction too, and so he smiles softly as the girl and boy wiggle closer to him, trusting him for some unapparent reason. He plugs his earphones as deep as they can go into his ears, blocking out the sound around them and listens to some music from his phone. The song isn’t the standard upbeat remixes that he’s used to, they’re kinder and softer on his ears. He thinks that Yuri would laugh, in that friendly banter sort of way, if he’d seen him.

He bites his lip at the thought of the teen, a flash of the silver and bronze medals reappearing before his eyes.

_Is that why you pushed yourself?_

The tune from his phone makes him feel drowsy, and Otabek decides to take a page out of the children’s books and simply nap for the rest of the flight, when he’s unfortunately awoken from his state by a soft tap to his side. The boy is still asleep when he blinks, so it has to be the girl, who’s wiggling in her seat with colour filling her cheeks.

“Um, Mister Otabek… I need help.” She says softly, eyes averting. If Otabek knew any better, he’d say she’s embarrassed, but desperately in need of some help. He wants to wonder why the twins had _insisted_ on making their new companion sit in the middle before take-off, because surely Coraline would rather her brother’s assistance. Otabek doesn’t vocalise his opinions though, simply letting them be as they are before turning his attention to her tentatively.

“Sure, what’s wrong?” he smiles gently, patiently waiting as always.

_Perhaps he wasn’t as patient as he thought. Maybe he only thinks that. He certainly wasn’t patient enough with Yuri and his feelings and—_

“Um… I need… bathroom.” She ends flatly, a hand clutching the seatbelt around her waist. She tugs at it best she can, but the desperation in her actions overrule any common sense in pulling the metal latch undone.

“You need the… oh.” Otabek says, eyes wide. He didn’t particularly want to do anything in this particular scenario, nor know how exactly he could help seeing as it’d be inappropriate of him to walk her just a few steps away. He considers waking up Jerimiah to help but decides against it, turning to assist the girl with the belt loop as best he can without waking the brother up. Once the latch is pulled free she stands up on shaky, unused legs and Otabek shifts his legs to allow her to pass through. There’s not much else he can do after that, besides shifting the sleeping boy’s legs to clear the path and so he keeps an eye on her in his peripheral as she waddles toward the restroom, disappearing behind the sliding door.

Otabek drills his fingers against his lap, seeing as there no longer was an arm rest to do the same thing for, having pulled it up on the demand that the children made the three separate seats ‘one huge bed-seat’. Were bed-seats even a thing? He’s pretty sure they meant futons, but he doesn’t question it, and instead reaches to go through is phone.

“Oh! I had these first two seats labelled as young passengers.” A flight assist smiles, offering Otabek a drink as she paused her trolley. Otabek refuses with a polite shake of his head as the woman bends down to scavenge the shelves.

“Ah, that’d make sense.” Otabek nods thoughtfully, “His sister is in the bathroom, did you need them for something?”

The flight assistant moves to lower the folding tray in front of Jerimiah, careful to not bump him as she does. She doesn’t need to ask for Otabek to do the same with Coraline’s, and so he twists the knob and releases the plastic table from its hold.

“Just their dinner, seeing as they’re young passengers we usually feed them first.” She smiles, carefully packed food in hands. They’re in disposable foil tins, and slide delicately onto the eating surface as she checks off both twins’ names. “It seems they leeched onto you.” She laughs after taking note of the boy’s position. But the woman’s job is still her job, which means supervising the under aged fliers and ensuring they get their meal, so with the help of Otabek, they wake up the tired child.

“Hmm?” Jerimiah hums sleepily, voice groggy and disoriented. He blinks slowly as he rubs away the sleep from his eyes before turning to Otabek in an instant.

“Your dinner is here.” He points to the tray, and the flight attendant beams, pulling out a box of apple juice as he begins to open the plastic utensils set.

“Oh! Pasta, you want some Mr Otabek?”

Otabek smiles and shakes his head, turning to the woman to thank her, receiving Coraline’s food and placing it on the available tray beside him. “Oh thanks.” She grins, before passing a juice box, straightening her uniform and cart. “Thank you for indulging them too, if you do need a break however just let me know and we can arrange for them to sit in other seats”

“Oh it’s alright.” Otabek assures her, and with that, she waves goodbye, moving onto the next row of children in the next compartment of the plane. It isn’t too long afterwards that Coraline returns, jumping into her seat excitedly as she eyes her dinner, licking lips as she hastily undoes the packaging.

“Mister!” Comes her call, and she tugs on his sleeve once more.

“Yes?”

“Where’s your dinner? Mama says it’s rude to not wait for everyone to have food before you eat.” He isn’t entirely sure where such rule of etiquette comes from, but judging by Jerimiah’s sheepish grin, he too seemed to have not known this fact.

“It’s alright, grownups eat later.” He explains as she hesitantly stares. “You can eat, I won’t think it’s rude—“

“Mr Otabek.” The boy calls softly, patting his arm gently. Otabek has realised that he’s the quieter of the two, despite appearing otherwise. Looks could be deceptive it appeared, but that didn’t bother Otabek; he wasn’t one to judge on looks. “You’re phone is messaging.”

Otabek hurries out an “Oh shoot, thanks.” Before taping the darkened screen. He’s thankful that the flight services wifi and he’s able enough to afford it, hastily notifying the others to message him through Line before the plane had lost service. He opens the green app before scrolling to the newest messages, eyeing the names at the top.

 _Katsuki Yuuri_ was printed at the top, a notification lighting up at the side. Otabek tunes out the rest of his surroundings as he swipes to view the messages, and seeps out his breath in anxiety as his heart quickens in pace.

“Oooohhh, who’s that?”  Coraline mumbles, mouth full of food. For all the manner talk she’d been concerned about before, the two most common rules of not talking while eating and staring over someone’s shoulder while they’re texting, has apparently flown over her head. He doesn’t mind so much however, she’s young and has no context to the true dilemma running through Otabek’s brain. That, and it’s in Cyrillic, with Yuuri’s english letter being transcribed into his own language.

“A friend.” Otabek answers curtly, hoping his tone doesn’t insult. Thankfully it doesn’t seem to do so, and Coraline returns to her food contently.

 _U arrive in four hours yeah?_ Read Yuuri’s message. Otabek bites his lips as he slowly types back a response.

_Yeah, will be soon._

His eyes are downcast, waiting with the same patience as always, for the ellipses to appear and show him that the Japanese man is typing. It doesn’t show for a few minutes, not until a minute has passed while being left on ‘read’, but those few minutes really do test the strength of Otabek’s self-proclaimed patience to the max.

_Viktor and I will meet u at airport and take u to Onsen k?_

Otabek feels the guilt bubble in his chest as his fingers ghost over the glass keyboard, unsure as to how he should decline. He’s already the reason for everything, no matter how many times he’s said it. He’s also now making thigs harder by jumping from country to country in order to be where the most action is happening, which accomplishes nothing more than a slowly draining bank account. He feels horrible about making Viktor and Yuuri travel for _him_.

But, as fate would have it, it appeared as though Yuuri could tell by the mere hesitation of a response, what was going through Otabek’s mind in that moment. _We want to make sure u get here safe, don’t worry about inconveniencing us, u rnt. We know u care about Yuri too, don’t think for us because I assure u, it’s not it, k?_

Otabek blinks at the words again, and lets his fingers pull away from the chat. He still wants to find the words to explain how terribly sorry and guilty he is, he still wants to protest at the newlyweds coming out to pick him up, he wants to apologise so badly for ruining their time together. There are so many things that Otabek wants to do to fix his mistakes, and it only makes him feel worse that he can’t. _See u soon!_ Yuuri’s final message comes through, and then the app tells him he’s offline.

With a sigh, he looks upwards, eyeing the digital map still on screen. 3 and a half hours to go, and they’d have to face them in person. No more screen, no more distance, Otabek wouldn’t be able to hide anymore.

“Mister, are you okay?” Coraline whispers, and it is only when the child asks that he realises her brother has fallen asleep yet _again_ , sauce partly covering his upper lip. Otabek can’t help but smile at the goofiness of the situation, before shifting to eye the girl in question.

“What makes you ask?” He tries slowly.

“You look sad.” She explains, “And you’ve been staring at the map all silent for a really long time.”

Well then, children were perceptive as hell, and Otabek has just been ousted by one.

He sighs, unsure as to how he should respond to such an ordinary question, hell, the answer can even be as easy as ‘yes’ or ‘no’. He decides to be truthful and indulge her, shaking his head doubtfully but not speaking anything more than a simple explanation. “Not really, I’m going through something that’s making me sad.” He admits. It’s strange, especially since it’s hardly much to a kid, and yet a little bit of the weight seems to have miraculously dissipated. He clicks the screen off and tucks his phone in his pocket as Coraline continues to frown, seemingly troubled by the response.

“It will be better.” She consoles thoughtfully, patting his arm yet again, “Did you fight with your best friend?” Otabek begins to wonder if she’s secretly a mind reader.

“Something like that, yeah.” He nods.

“Well, best friends love each other no matter what, I mean, when my friends and I argue it lasts for a really long time, but then we forget why we were mad and just miss each other so we say sorry and become friends again.” She pauses. “You did say sorry right?”

He stares at the child with surprise, but shrugs his shoulders uncertainly. It’s as if they are best friends themselves, and she’s looking out for him with that ‘mom-friend’ type of concern. Children always had a way of simplifying everything to the point of making most things seem ridiculous. Otabek chuckles inwardly at the idea, it would be much easier if things were so simple. “Not yet, I want to though.” He explains. It makes him feel a little worse, knowing that merely taking back whatever he said was nowhere near enough for the damage he feels he’s done.

“Well you should.” Coraline nods decisively, “Mr Otabek you’re really nice and I’m sure your best friend knows that too, but don’t forget that you both need to say sorry because you both hurt each other’s feelings.” She beams up at him with hopeful eyes, flashing her teeth in a lopsided smile. Otabek is truly amazed with how she’d managed to quickly jump into the role of a supportive friend, regardless of her age, and thinks that adults could certainly learn a thing or two from their own. At he thinks he could.

“Thank you Coraline, that was rather helpful.” He says, and he means it, because despite the advice being basic logic, he feels as though his brain has only over processed and complicated something so small. It doesn’t stop the guilt or the anxiety he feels, there’s no way that it even makes the situation and Yuri’s disappearance any better, but it does make Otabek feel stronger, even if only a smidgen, so for that he’s rather grateful.

“It’s okay.” The 12 year old cheers, offering the smallest of side hugs Otabek has ever received. “Everyone has fights, but best friends forgive each other always because they love each other.” It’s such a bold statement that could become far more complex than need be. The lack of experience tells him this much, especially with the naivety that youth brings. But perhaps that’s also why people divorce, and people break up, whereas children stay friends for far longer. Perhaps everything really was as easy as a child’s word and adults were just overcomplicated people by nature.

It’s rather ironic that a child should teach an adult a thing or two about life, where the tables are turned and the student becomes the teacher, but who’s to say that adults aren’t the true children either, spoiled with not toys but experiences? Otabek takes it in stride all the same, mentally opening a workbook and grabbing a pen; he’s got a few notes beneficial to take.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back in holidays now so I'll be sure to dedicate a lot of my time to writing for this story. Thank you so much for the lovely comments and support recently, This story is proving to be something I enjoy a lot!
> 
> (This story isn't beta read!)


	10. Between Best Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But if not for the happy couple that slept down the hall, or Yuuri who’d helped more than he’d ever know, then Otabek smiles for one thing, and that’s Yuri and what could have been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well if I am honest I didn't think I was going to get this chapter finished in time but voila! Here I am!  
> Sorry I couldn't post earlier, I had o go to an anime convention and you bet your assess I saw too much YOI. There was a YOI themed car okay? I nearly cried.
> 
> Anyways, wow! Yuri is finally located and oh my lord and saviour, we're about to dive deep into the angst my friends. I know, It has already been a hell of an angsty ride but we're still going!

The wind whistles sharply as the car skids to a halt, tires screeching in protest as the vehicle locks into stillness, jolting passenger and driver forward. The seatbelts give a restrain tug, bruising their chests as the breath is knocked out of their lungs, before being thrown back into their seats with a thud.

Yuuri hates Isaac Newton, and he hates his stupid laws of motion.

Viktor snags the hand break of the small van that Hiroko owns, the rippling of a creak tearing through the silence as it’s locked into place next to the park symbol. They almost immediately spring into action afterwards, and the snips of seatbelts and drags of fabrics release into the buckle slots so that they may exit the van.

Yuuri can hear a lot of sounds in the van alone, and they’ve barely arrived at the airport since he’d been counting; 25 so far, and his ears only pick up on more. Clothes ruffling, keys turning, Viktor breathing, seat creaking – he drags in more air as he sighs. The doors pop as they unlock and his husband tugs at the door’s handle with an ‘oof’. His head reels at his overly stimulated ears.

Was that his heart or the slam of the car door?

Viktor shares a worried look with him as Yuuri draws up to his side, clinging to his jacket like a leech. It’s very clear when there’s something wrong with Yuuri, and right now, something was most definitely wrong. The pavement echoes with his footsteps as they walk, and then there are loose stones so the sound starts to shift to a crunch.

His husband has a rather vague idea of how delicate Yuuri feels in this moment, and only wishes he could take away all the hardships his brain hands him. But it’s impossible, he is already well aware, and would honestly feel better if the brunette had let him go to the airport alone. Of course that wouldn’t have happened no matter how much begging he did; Yuuri was stubborn like that, even while fending off an anxiety attack, and so Viktor could only compromise that he’d stay glued to the hip till they got home.

The crickets’ chirps thrash about in the night, like cymbals being thrown against the ground, only the sound waves are like real waves, and they crash and they bash against Yuuri’s skull, ready to form into another at its peak.

They already know what kind of pressure has sprung this upon the poor man, the guilt and the worry for Yuri having gone straight to his head. Viktor had tried so desperately to reassure him, to get it through Yuuri’s head that the cancelled card was _not_ his fault or idea, but it did very little to help, and his husband’s brain blocked out the reasoning, only filtering in sounds and irritation and fear.

“He should be out soon, my Yuuri.” Viktor whispers, pressing a delicate kiss to the crown of his head. Whether Yuuri registers the sign of affection or not alludes his husband, but he shuffles closer anyway.

“Mmmm. “ He groans but even that appears to distress hi as he squeezes his eyes shut momentarily. There’s a shuffle with a reluctant squeal as the automatic doors part ways, and the rushed gush of cool air from within the building. They continue to walk, tiles echoing with the bustle of thousands of feet, and each individual step sounds like the clashing of crowded voices. He wants it to stop, _make it stop_ , his mind calls, but it’s drowning underneath the weight of external input.

“Here, the waiting room is quiet, shhh, it’s okay Yuuri.” Viktor’s voice rumbles, like a small blessing amongst the chaos. It’s far softer and gentler, as if to cradle the copious amounts of confusion that swirls around Yuuri’s head. They quickly make their way into the sitting area and plop down onto two seats, half of Yuuri’s body clinging to Viktor’s as he clings into his chest. “Rest your eyes, I’ll wake you when he arrives.”

It takes Yuuri a little longer to finally agree to the proposition his husband makes, leaning against his broad shoulders as he lets his breathing carry out. Viktor busies himself with his phone as they wait, his right hand playing with Yuuri’s own as a form of comfort while his left swipes and taps at the glass screen. Sometimes when the world simply gets to loud, Viktor tries his hardest to listen and find out what Yuuri is being told. It’s not something he finds easy, but if Yuuri must endure the harsh whispers and rumours behind his back in the form of everything around him, Viktor only wishes to be able to say he can understand too.

He remembers the first time it’d happened, when of all things, Makkachin’s delighted barks, as every morning, aroused them from their sleep. Yuuri had all but shot up from bed, like the dead reanimated, and Viktor, who’d been indulging himself with his phone, had screamed. Yuuri had screamed after, and Yuri, who had been peacefully asleep in his designated bedroom, burst into the room screaming too. That morning was filled with a lot of screaming, and by the time Yuri was done shouting about the house being ‘a fucking nightmare’, Yuuri had been heavily breathing like an asthmatic.

At first, both Russian’s had thought that was very well what was happening, and amidst Yuuri’s panicked expression, had tried to get him to explain, shuffling around, making space, trying to get him comfortable.

Thinking about it now, if Yuuri indeed was an asthmatic, forcing him to speak probably would have killed him quicker.

It was Yuuri’s high pitched whimpers as he shook his head ‘no’ that managed to snap Yuri and Viktor out of their frenzy, joining him at his side as they tried to ask him what was wrong. _“Sh-shut up! Too loud!”_ Was all Yuuri had pleaded, hands covering his ears as squeezed his eyes shut.

Sensitivity overload, Yuri had called it. Triggered by copious amounts of anxiety bubbling around Yuuri’s head. They’d spent that morning trying to work out the best course of action, having worriedly left Yuuri to his own devices in hopes that it’d be more peaceful. It would have to be Yuuri to explain what to do should something similar happen again, but it had been agreed between the three of them that they’d talk more openly to avoid such build ups again.

Viktor wondered how much Yuuri truly was keeping to himself right now. It wasn’t hard to guess what stirred the pot; Yuri’s disappearance had been one thing, and the blame Yuuri still reserved for himself was most likely the last straw, having successfully activated the parts of his brain he preferred to have not been woken up at all.

Viktor also wonders what drove Yuri to do what he’d done and run off, not a note or a trace left behind. It’s strange, how much he considers this a fault on his behalf, while still trying to convince his husband the opposite for himself. But there’s a reason Yuri didn’t simply seek out their assistance for whatever was needed, and there was a reason he hadn’t been as open as once promised. He wants to say it’s because he’d failed in building such strong bonds, but that too seems so wrong.

Or perhaps he was scared of being a bad friend.

There’s an underlying murmur from the other people waiting, hushed whispers that seep into the air. Viktor finds himself surprised that he’s able to pick up on such noises, and then turns his head to the left as he hears the distant air conditioner whir. Perhaps he can begin to see Yuuri’s world if only for a little bit.

He squeezes his phone tightly as he sighs, but even his own breath escaping his lips feels weird and disjointed. In fact, nothing feels entirely ‘right’ as he forces his eyes to focus. The board of flights list the next incoming and the next to depart, with the direct route from Russia having finally landed.

Yuuri is aroused from sleep by the hundreds of shuffling feet, each one repeating itself in his head as he warily eyes each stranger who passes. Some offer him a smile as they meet eyes, while others quickly turn away in denial. Yuuri doesn’t really register who is doing what, he’s allowing his hyper focused brain to do something productive for once and single out the Kazakh man in need.

It takes a few minutes longer before the stream of people have thinned out, and there’s only a handful left entering the room to greet loved ones or start their journey home as _finally_ , Viktor spots Otabek walking towards them. It takes a moment before Viktor reprimands himself for almost shouting the man’s name, carefully tucking Yuuri into his side as they stand and wave him over.

If Otabek was confused as to the lack of verbal communication, he said nothing of it, and slowly made his way towards the pair, pulling his luggage behind like a dead weight.

“Hey, we parked just outside.” Viktor mumbles, a hand waving for the younger to follow. Yuuri offers an apologetic wave and smile, before following Viktor’s slow movements in tandem. The greeting isn’t anything like the usual chipper skaters but considering the circumstances it’s expected.

“Sorry Otabek.” Yuuri whispers quietly, as if to explain, “I’m not feeling too well. Was your flight good?”

Otabek seems to contemplate the question thoughtfully, deciding his words in the best way possible. He’s already an imposition and finding out that Yuuri isn’t well doesn’t exactly comfort him. “I hope you feel better.” He begins, testing his boundaries of speech. It’s a useless attempt at consolation but it’s the effort that counts, or he hopes count at least. “The flight was comfortable, thank you for picking me up, I could have made my own way there.”

They cross the parking lot as cars drive by, tires squealing or crunching under the gravel. Yuuri grits his teeth painfully as they reach their own vehicle, and almost whimpers as Viktor unlocks the doors. “You could have, but making sure you get to the onsen safely gives me a sense of comfort.”

Otabek doesn’t dare challenge the Japanese man’s explanation, he worries he has already over stayed his welcome and doesn’t want to offend for any more impositions. He climbs into the back of the vehicle quickly and settles, tugging a carryon bag into his lap.

The van is rather spacious, and smells a little like steamed buns. He supposes that’s only natural, whether it had once transported such goods or is used for the onsen’s food business. The interior otherwise matches that of other vans, and is truthfully nothing unique in that regard, but it still contains that sense of warm welcoming so he indulges in it’s odd cosiness.

Viktor helps Yuuri into the front passenger seat and the two whisper something as they get themselves situated. Otabek doesn’t pry, he focuses himself with his own phone by finally turning it on in order to connect to any available service. There’s a few messages from instagram and notifications from twitter, but apart from that, it’s Discord that takes over the majority of the incoming messages.

 _Arrived?_ Is all Phichit has said, sent only ten minutes ago. Otabek leaves a thumbs up emoji to answer before flicking through his other messages, sighing as he back reads all that he’s missed out on in the Figure Skating group chat. There are a few comments left behind from Sara, her brother and Mila, something about their return flight to Italy and their flights timetable. There’s a heavy weighted feeling within him as he reads the messages and checks Instagram, eyeing the farewell post from the airport.

Mila was still assisting them in any way that she could, continuing to dig into what was available with Georgi. After locking Yuri in Australia though, the options they had were practically minimal, and there was hardly enough evidence to conclude there was a pattern of location. Otabek new that there was beginning to be nothing more to do, he wasn’t even angry that the Crispino twins had to return home. He’s honestly surprised that Phichit and Chris were still even on board, and had expected the frustration with the lack of results to be the end of it all.

At the very bottom of the group chat are two new welcoming prompts for two new accounts, and it’s eventually noted that they’re both Lilia and Yakov, who had apparently caved in and signed up for accounts while he was in the air. Otabek contemplates adding both of them as friends before flicking off of the app, the stress coming with the lack of activity weighing hi down.

Otabek feels the van rumble to life underneath him, Viktor pulling the handbrake out of lock as he shifts the gear out of park. From one of the side mirrors, he Kazakh can see Yuuri’s reflection, eyes screwed shut with his face pressed squished against the glass. He can’t tell if he’s simply resting his eyes or asleep but he knows that it’s important he rests.

The scenery around him changes as they eventually drive into the secluded parts of Hasetsu. It’s a rather stark comparison to the bustling city areas and the airport, slowly seeping into that of more countryside landmarks. The further out they go, the more common it is to see children running around freely, and little toddlers playing in dirt. It’s a carefree environment that sparks excitement into its locals, and creates a sensation of close family around him.

Viktor silently chuckles as he drives slower, eyeing the barren roads for escaping children, occasionally stopping as one or a cluster cross. They usually have pets, or sometimes screaming parents, but all wave as if they know him when they see Viktor. He pokes his head out of the window occasionally and greets each stranger hello before continuing on, while besides him, it appears that Yuuri sleeps on.

“ _Konnichiwa_!” Viktor eventually says, snapping Otabek out of his phone’s trance. He knows what that word means, along with a few common phrases to get around, but Viktor explodes into a full conversation, surprising him with his linguistic skill. There’s a woman at the driver’s side, and it appears as if she’s talking about Yuuri as she frowns with concern. Viktor replies, another unknown response, as the woman nods with a knowing face. It’s only a little moment longer when a child’s scream echoes across the empty air, and soon a naked child can be seen running across the grass. Their mother, supposedly the woman talking to Viktor, gasps as she bolts, a very quick “ _Sumimasen!”_ escaping her lips as she chases after them. Viktor calls out, most likely wishing her luck as she scoops up the discarded undergarments.

The van continues its journey into Hasetsu, and it passes more families and children in its path. For such a small tow located by the sea, it really did have quite the population to match. There’s nothing but happiness that can be found, as cliché as it sounds, and the delightful; chatter of people call out to him invitingly.

Viktor mentions something about a waterfall, where Yuri had been, and a ninja temple he’d hoped to take the boy. He doesn’t know how to respond as the peaceful dream is broken and reality crashes into his eyes, humming as his bran swirls with thoughts about Yuri and guilt. He distantly hears Viktor describing the places as they pass, and he’s sure hey’re as beautiful, if not more so, than what the Russian man says,  but amongst the worry and the reminder of Yuri’s ever absence, Otabek barely passes it a glance.

 

* * *

 

 

Phichit knows a lot about Viktor Nikiforov, almost enough to rival his best friend Katsuki Yuuri. And that’s saying quite a lot considering he did live with the man for a few years in Detroit and had the pleasure of being the best man to their wedding. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to top Yuuri’s encyclopaedic knowledge on the Russian skater, but he’s pretty content with the amount he has already.

He’s confident you could quiz him, perhaps not against Yuuri but against anyone else he’s confident. He knows the basics, like Viktor’s birthday and age, and how many medals he’s won in which year. Phichit can almost identify every competition after Yuuri had written a _song_ to remember them, and he is certain he can now differentiate between a true Viktor Nikiforov smile and those that he plasters on for the tabloids. He also knows the extremes, things that he could only ever find out from Chris or Yuuri who’d known him far more personally than any news reporter could. So Phichit also has the scoop on Viktor’s favourite songs, and ice cream flavours, and above all _skin and hair routine_.

If you ask Phichit anything about that he’ll deny it though, and strongly deny any correlation to his own new routine that he’d adopted for himself. It’s a coincidence that they so happen to use the same conditioner… and shampoo… and facial masks. Just a coincidence.

So yeah, Phichit knows quite a lot, even if he has only been friends with the man for a couple years.

Chris has been friends with Viktor for far longer than Yuuri and Phichit but even he was surprised with the extensive research Phichit had undergone. Sure, the Swiss skater hadn’t exactly stalked Viktor’s Wikipedia page before they’d first meet – a lie, a terribly big lie, but he’s still in denial about that one, but eventually even Chris had switched sources from the gossip mags to the real deal.

Phichit had to wonder just how many people had actually googled Viktor before they’d become friends.

That’s plenty enough an excuse to be bunking at the man’s house, right?

In the Thai skater’s defence, they _have_ been working hard, and rather laboriously too if he’d care to admit. Entering Viktor and Yuuri’s home was a mere privilege to dog-sitting Makkachin! And let’s not forget, this was also his friend’s home too now. So even if he couldn’t enter _Viktor’s_ house, he could enter Yuuri’s. And with Chris being allowed to enter Viktor’s, the both of them combined had total permission to enter the apartment.

So if anything, the house that kept Viktor and Makkachin for years had always been expected to appear cold and lifeless, and from passing comments from both Chris and Yuuri, it had certainly appeared that way once in the beginning. Phichit wasn’t sure if he’d had the right address the first day he went to care for Makkachin, but he’d checked thrice before concluding that his friends were either blind or had terrible taste in home décor because surely this place was almost _too_ domestic?

Even now, re-entering the familiar premises, the only feeling Phichit receives are warm and welcoming. Not a trace of the ‘cold, collected and surgical presentation” to be found. It seems like it’s news for Chris however, who’s eyes are blown wide as Makkachin escapes into one of the rooms. He doesn’t leave the front door for a good five minutes, and it’s only when Phichit literally drags him into the living room does he speak out his disbelief openly.

“It’s so different.” He gapes, eyes lingering across every wall. There’s still an order to this home, as the frames indicate with precision, but it’s also a lot more carefree with pictures of friends and family occupying the spaces. “We are in _Viktor’s_ house, yes?”

Phichit chooses the moment to laugh as he returns from shutting the door, tossing the keys loosely into their designated bowl. “I wondered about that too actually.” He admits, taking a seat beside Chris, “Yuuri and you have both said it was like a debtor’s prison, cold and calculated… but I really don’t see that.”

“That’s because it isn’t here anymore.” Chris states, still shocked and in disbelief, “It used to be so… empty. Like seriously, the room was always super cold and at first I thought it was just me but…” he doesn’t finish, alluding to what could have only been the most lonesome apartment in the world.

“Yuuri did a good job of bringing the meaning to the word ‘home’ then.” He nods, eyeing the trophy cabinet. Inside are medal, in a mixture of bronze, silver and gold. There aren’t any orders to their appearance but Phichit can recognise a few of Viktor’s from one of Yuuri’s PowerPoint presentations.

Yes, there had been PowerPoint presentations, and many, many hours spent dedicated to them. A good practise for presentation skills and confidence… but only if Yuuri had put as much effort into his research with University as he did Viktor Nikiforov. It didn’t matter anways because Yuuri graduated top of the class as expected.

“Well, home never really was a place to him now was it?” Chris hums, standing. There’s an emphasis on the word ‘place’ as he says this, eyeing the bright kitchen off to the side of the room. On the floor is Makkachin’s dog bowl and an assortment of toys that Phichit had tried to clean up once, failing miserably. “Have you been here every day to look after Makkachin?”

“Well duh, but I never stay too long.” He admits, waving a hand. Chris raises an eyebrow as if he didn’t believe him. “What?”

“Are you to say, _the_ Phichit Chulanont, social media king, has access to two of the world’s greatest figure skaters, after us of course, and has _not_ gone through every underwear drawer they own? My, my, so loyal to your friends that you sacrifice your fans!”

The question sounds accusatory, but before Phichit can prompt any further, there’s a mischievous smile on Chris’ face, and soon he finds himself being tugged by the hand. “Where are you going?” he asks, finding themselves stop outside of the grand bathroom. Phichit hasn’t entered it due to a want of preserving their privacy, but it appears as though Chris has no qualms over entering such a private area. “And of course not! This is _their_ house. As much as I really want to see what they’ve got laying around… and trust me, I’m all in for the next big scoop, but—”

“The Jacuzzi!” Chris points, cutting off the explanation and Phichit’s eyes widen at the sheer size of such an expensive bathtub. Perhaps it is this one piece in the middle of the marble floor that gives a hint into the house’s sad past and for that, Phichit almost wonders how lonely person could feel in it. It’s big enough for four people at least, and there are _steps_ for various levels of depth. Six hole are embedded into the sides and on each side of each jet are two lights, hinting at the light show they could bring. “There’s bath bubbles here, I know there is because Viktor always tells me how he wants to build a bubble fortress with Yuuri in the bathroom…”

Of course he does, because Viktor is a literal man child.

There’s a moment of hesitation before Phichit realises there’s no need for one, grinning wildly as he catches onto Chris’ suggestion. “Is there now? Well I also know that this specific Jacuzzi has a bubble disco feature that we _must_ test out. You know, in case Viktor needs to replace it or something.”

Chris hums as he begins opening the many cabinets under the double vanity sink. One of the faucets alone is most likely the equivalent to both of their skates combined and Phichit isn’t entirely sure how he feels about that. “Mhmm,” he agrees, “--testing it out.”

They rummage around gleefully for a good ten minutes, the sudden lack of care no longer bothering Phichit as they dig through their friends’ drawers in search for the missing bubble soap. For a rather large bathroom, there aren’t too many places of hiding that it could be, and so he comes to the conclusion that it could only be somewhere too obvious. He ends up finding it, stashed and most likely hidden by Yuuri, in the bottom of the toilet canister, along with another two bottles of the stuff beside it. Viktor could seriously transform this entire house into a bubble mansion with the amount of bubble soap he had stashed.

“Here!” Phichit yells out in triumph, tossing the opened bottle towards Chris who readily catches it, a quizzical look on his face. “It made sense to look there.” Phichit explains proudly.

“Ah yes, because the toilet is a good hiding spot?” Chris guesses, still not quite understanding the purpose of hiding them somewhere so strangely. Better yet, why Phichit had even considered to search in the top of the toilet and why he figured it would make the most sense. He shrugs his shoulders with nonchalance as he waits for an answer anyways, knowing he’s bound to get one as he turns round to the tub to begin the slow process of filling it with water.

Phichit pulls the stopper beside the Jacuzzi’s side, because of course Viktor bought one with one of those special types that had a built in plug. The drain folds inwards s metal seals the hole, and tap built into the wall flows. Once again, each tap is probably worth more than anything he ever owned.

“No, because if Yuuri doesn’t want a mess, he’d hide it, and I know his favourite hiding place is there.” Phichit reveals smugly. To be fair, the toilet canister is Yuuri’s only hiding spot, and he knows this because hiding Phichit’s phone could only do so much when he was in dire need of it. That, and the millions of notifications practically called out to him until he’d found it. So much for a phone free day.

The Jacuzzi is half full by the time Chris begins pouring in the mix, or was it half empty? Regardless, the tub fills with pink bubbles, because it’s strawberry scented of course, and soon the jets are on and cycling the foam through rapidly. The water continues to churn as the bubbles gradually increase in volume, becoming a puff cloud of fun excitement in their eyes. It’s practically over flowing, or in the sense of bubbles at least, and suddenly there’s a faint smell of the promised strawberry wafting through the air.

He quickly reaches over to activate the lights, and in contrast with the pink bubbles, it transforms the room into the coolest nightclub in existence. Screw actually going outside – Phichit wouldn’t mind trading his life for this entire bathroom.

“Grab your swimmers, we’re gonna be in for a treat.” Chris turns around to wink and with a rapid blush seeping across his tan skin, Phichit books it from the room in order to find his change of clothes.

Once he’s returned, after tripping several times and rushing to change, he sees Chris’ head pop out amongst the mess as he grins. He doesn’t question that the Swiss has probably decided to go full nude and sure enough, he passes his clothes as he jumps in. “We should totally take a selfie.” Chris encourages, snagging his phone from the floor. A bit of the water seeps out as he moves but it’s too little care from the both of them as he flips the camera around to the front. “Smile Phichit!”

He asks to be tagged in the photo should Chris decide to post, and snorts at the caption he’s chosen. “Only one of us are skinny dipping.” He points out, shoving a face full of the bubbles into the other.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t join.” Chris teases, cupping his hand around more of the foam in retaliation. Phichit is pretty sure that should Viktor and Yuuri see their Instagram, they may get in trouble for exploiting their bathroom. Well, at least Yuuri would, he’s almost positive that Viktor would just be upset he couldn’t join in on the fun.

Oh well, they’d cross that bridge when they got there.

He isn’t sure why he’s agreed to suddenly abuse his dog sitting power with a bubble bath and friend, but Phichit wasn’t one to question his opportunities. At least now he could proudly say that there’s something else he’s learnt about Viktor, and that it’s how similar, no matter high the pedestal, they truly are. No tabloid would ever come close to exposing such a vulnerable truth, and perhaps for this, Phichit despises social media just the slightest.

After all, they love the same things; strawberry scented bubble baths, Jacuzzis and Katsuki Yuuri – who could disagree with that?

 

* * *

 

 

“Otabek Altin get your ass up, we’re headed to war!” His eyes snap open, heart accelerating at a velocity far too abnormal in comparison to what should be healthy. There’s not a second gone to waste after that, fight or flight responses kicking in as he throws the blanket off of his body and sits up, bleary eyes blinking and tearing as he tries to adjust to the harsh lights of the guest room. He doesn’t scream, he’s too strategical for such things, but he does anxiously scout the room, eventually spying the intruder.

Katsuki Yuuri stands at the door, a hand on his hip and a bottle under his arm, and his pyjamas, which on closer inspection appear to actually be Viktor’s, slipping loosely off of his frame. “I said stand soldier!” The command registers in Otabek’s mind who can only think of just how Yuuri was allowed to get this drunk, when he rises to his feet in compliance. The Japanese man is still slightly taller than him, something he doesn’t remember enough, and before he knows it, Yuuri has grasped him by the hand in an iron grip, angrily muttering under his breath.

This is it. Otabek is going to die.

He’s tugged out of the guest room and shamefully dragged across the threshold, before being shoved roughly into a room off of the main living quarters. He quickly spies the remainder of the Katsuki family’s sniggering, and he’s convinced they’re all masochists, as Viktor objects and tries to rescue his soul. At least he tries to.

“My Yuuri, let the poor guy eat breakfast first before you—“

“NO!” Yuuri shoots him a look, jabbing a finger into the Russian’s chest. Otabek is rather surprised with the effects a little liquid courage brings, but it appears as if everyone else had already been acquainted with this side of Yuuri already. “Back the fuck off, we’re headed to war, so shimmie your good looking ass back to breakfast and just bring us food instead!”

“Okay, we’ll get breakfast in thirty minutes, just give me the bottle— there we go, and don’t go too hard on Otabek okay?” Otabek fears his life just a little more.

“Get your sexy ass out.” There’s a final tug at his wrist as Viktor apologetically smiles at him before Yuuri slams the door roughly behind them. Otabek is surprised that Yuuri could even say something so provocative in such an angry way, but chooses not to question it as he awaits his tortured fate.

Whatever has gotten him mad, Otabek is 100% convinced it is because of him.

“Sit.” Yuuri inclines, pushing a swivel chair out towards him as he takes a seat in another one vacant. They’re plush, and deceiving for a moment where he’s preparing himself mentally for a scolding, or a yelling – hell, even a slap across the face. He doesn’t scrunch his face up in anticipation however, he still finds it hard to believe that innocent, shy Katsuki Yuuri would ever become so violent, let alone his fiancé and family encouraging him to go through with such ideas.

Otabek doesn’t give up on the concept of masochism however.

There’s a soft intake of breath, very much unlike the display of behaviour that had aroused him from sleep, and almost instantly, like a façade, it all slips away from his face. “Good morning?” He tries.

Yuuri blinks, eyes roaming the roam as if he’d forgotten the original purpose of being there. With a single glance to his left, his mouth falls open and the suddenly very astonished, very socially awkward Yuuri that Yuri had often described had returned. “I just did that.” He says, like a spell that’s been broken.

“We were… going to war?” Otabek tries.

Katsuki groans as he throws his face into his hands, rubbing them tiredly with a heavy sigh. “Yes.” He nods, swaying slightly. The only possible conclusion is that the next round of alcohol has hit, and from once confident and sassy, Yuri has returned into a droopy, awkward mess. Otabek doesn’t want to imagine 6 drink Yuuri ever. “Yes, to war.” He agrees, like it’s normal to say such things, and the next thing he knows, the swivel chair has been kicked to face a rather elaborate desktop.

“Minecraft.” Otabek says aloud, eyeing the monitors that don the desk. There are four in total, and why there needs to be that many remains a mystery as he takes note that they’re paired to expand over two desktops per computer. Had Otabek not been confused, he’d call it a rather elaborate setup.

“Yes.” Yuuri nods seriously, head set thrown to the skater as he slips on another pair. “Let the games begin.”

 

* * *

 

 

 “ _Chto za chert!_ ” The blond grits his teeth, eyes narrowing with threat. Mark keeps his distance and watches as the boy rolls his eyes. Whatever he said, it was most certainly violent, and he tries to pinpoint exactly what language he’s speaking. His best guess is something European, especially with the amount of consonants that roll off of his tongue.

“Mate, how old are you?” he tries, unsure as to if english was even worth a shot. The teen’s face goes slack for but a moment, and Mark steadies himself for a confrontation as he slams his hand against the bar.

“English idiots.” He hisses, glare reforming across his face. “Where I’m from, I’m legal.”

“Unfortunately, ‘wherever you’re from’ isn’t gonna cut it.” Mark quotes, fingers bouncing in the form of quotation marks as he observes. The more he stares the more he realise just how dishevelled the newcomer is; pale skin, shadows under his eyes and hair knotted and shredded. Wherever he’d come from, there was clearly a lot on his plate. “How about we start with your name?”

There’s a contemplative sigh, and for a second, he thinks that the kid will leave, but he’s quickly proven wrong when he slumps over the seat and face plants the table, groaning as he reluctantly answer. “Yuri Plisetsky.” He grumbles, hand outstretched impatiently. “Now give me a fucking drink.”

 

* * *

 

 

Chris blinks awake with a yawn and an influx of notifications from his phone. At first, he’s worried that a massive development in their case has been made and he’d slept all the way through it, then he realises that it’s Viktor and his heart jumps with a start.

Phichit quickly wakes beside him, both having happily taken over their friend’s bed for the night. “It’s what they would have wanted.” Phichit had tearfully joked. There’s a yawn that escapes his lips as he shuffles closer to the Swiss, curling into his side to view the phone screen also, smirking at the mass amounts of texts and miss calls.

“You probs should answer him huh?”

“I panicked thinking it was about Yuri… but no, he’s just mad about the bubble bath photos.” Chris sighs, lowering the device. No one in their right of mind should be allowed to look as refreshed as he does after awakening, but then and again Phichit had already begun to consider the possibility that European gay men may simply not be human after all. “You hungry?”

“Not really.” The Thai skater replies absentmindedly, a hand reaching across the empty spaces of the bed for his own phone. He’s surprised to find for once that there are absolutely no notifications cluttering his screen, and makes a point to show Chris. “For once, the tables have been turned.

“Indeed they have.” Chris bemuses, “Although I’m not exactly complaining… it’s been a good distraction from everything and… well focusing on this too much doesn’t exactly help either.” His phone buzzes obnoxiously again, and he stifles a smirk as the incoming facetime notification clouds his screen. It’s from Viktor, obviously, and Phichit snorts as he swipes to answer the call for him.

“We should have left him hanging.” Phichit decides, only a little too late after the call connects.

The phone’s screen is eventually taken up by Viktor’s face as he sits in what’s apparently Yuuri and his’ room. There’s no one else in the background however, and there are distant shouting over his delighted greeting. Phichit finds it incredible that despite Yuri’s absence, they’re managing rather well to hold up.

“Viktor, it’s late for you, no?” Chris raises an eyebrow curiously. He couldn’t be bothered to check the time right now, but he knew it would be around evening for them.

“Kind of, though you should probably be saying that to Yuuri.” He chuckles, a sigh escaping his lips. “Glad you _finally_ answered though, oh, and Phichit’s with you! Well isn’t this a lovely—“ He cuts himself off almost as quick as he was about to jump into a greeting, squinting at the camera out of curiosity. “First you use my bubble bath, then you use my bed? How cruel can you get Giacometti? Chulanont, you’re supposed to be the responsible one!”

“It’s what Yuuri would have wanted.” Phichit uses the same excuse again, sticking his tongue out defiantly. ”Anyways, what were you saying about Yuuri? Where is he anyway? Did you guys get Otabek form the airport?”

There’s some more yelling in the background as Viktor smirks, momentarily leaving the screen to shut the bedroom door. It leaves Chris and Phichit waiting confusedly, only to want to know more once Viktor reappears in view. “Sorry, that’s them… they’ve been playing this video game all day since Yuuri got his hands on booze—“

“Yuuri got drunk?” Phichit cuts in, eyes wide. “What? Is he okay?!”

From past experiences, a drunk Yuuri was generally a bad sign, indicating anxiety or severe depression. He would of course know, having nursed Yuuri back to a conscious state on multiple occasions in university after dorm parties had gone wrong. So a drunk Yuuri was never a happy Yuuri, but a _morning_ drunk Yuuri? That was a line even Phichit hadn’t crossed himself.

Viktor frantically nods, hands waving to dismiss any concerns, a rapid fire of “Yes, yes, he’s fine.” Looping over and over until Phichit was sure it had been engrained into his brain. “There was an incident yesterday—“

“If my best friend was hurt you should know that I am very good at tracking people down so you better scram.” Phichit jokes, a sweet smile on his face as Viktor stares uncertainly. He can feel Chris containing his peals of laughter beside him as he cracks a laugh too, Viktor’s astonished face melting into an even greater source of humour. Of course he was joking, Yuuri wouldn’t be pleased if he found out that his best friend had murdered his husband after all. The tension rolls out of Viktor slowly.

Well, mostly joking.

“But Yuuri sounds like he’s fine now, yes?” Chris decides to pick the conversation up where they’d dropped it, and soon Viktor is hurrying to explain all over again.

“Well yeah. Yesterday he was feeling a bit overwhelmed… I think the booze counteracted that this morning but uh, he pretty much gave Otabek a heart attack and dragged him into his gaming room. Haven’t seen them for…” He momentarily checks the time on his phone, “8 hours give or take. Is this something normal or should I be concerned?”

The question is aimed at Phichit who clearly recognises the gaming addicted fiasco as a phase of Yuuri’s to help calm his nerves, meanwhile Chris is repeatedly muttering “8 hours?!” under his breath like he wants them to be his dying words.

“Well, not really, Yuuri’s probably just really stressed right now.” Phichit sighs tiredly, “I’m pretty sure after everything... everyone is quite drained. I’m surprised this hasn’t happened sooner… but he should be fine tomorrow… hopefully.”

Chris shifts in the bed to sit up as Phichit continues to talk, readjusting their position into something more comfortable. Surprisingly, the air isn’t as frigid as he thought it would have been, and relishes in the heated blankets. Bless what money can buy you.

“What is our dear Yuuri even playing with Otabek?” Chris asks, somewhat curious as to what could possibly keep someone so engaged. He isn’t completely inexperienced, having dabbled in video games in the past. Almost like a long lost hobby you dig up after cleaning out your storage room, something you practice occasionally, but nowhere near as dedicated as Phichit or Yuuri appear to be. Viktor is another story, not being able to tell the difference from R1 to R2 on a standard PlayStation controller, let alone being able to keep up with the fast pace of the video graphics.

Chris had forced him to try it out once, the experience almost failing them completely until he’d eye’s the DDR game mat stuffed in the corner of his old bedroom. So Viktor is a queen at Dance Dance Revolution and absolutely slays all the completion with it, but that’s as far as his abilities appear to have gone.

His lack of enthusiasm within the video gaming industry is proven in that moment however, when h blanches at the question he’s being asked, a sheepish shrug of his shoulders indicating he really couldn’t tell heads or tails from whatever it is that his husband is doing. “He did tell me… more like yell when he discovered I was a… ‘pleb’ he called me. But uh… can’t remember the name? Something to do with rafting? Oh god I’m a terrible husband.”

Phichit rolls his eyes and unlocks his phone. “Keep trying.” He encourages the man, listening to the struggled attempts of remembering a game’s tittle. Phichit swipes open Discord and identifies Yuuri’s username, scrolling to see what his friend is currently up to.

“Maybe he said Making? Rafting or making… oh I don’t know!’ He gives up with a sigh, pout adoring his features in frustration, “I really am a pleb aren’t I? I don’t even know what a pleb is!”

The desired information is found and Phichit snorts, turning his phone to show Chris. “Minecraft?” The blonde turns to Viktor, an eyebrow raised, “You’ve seriously never heard of Minecraft? Viktor, _mon amie_ , how can you not remember something as easy as a word Minecraft? A pleb is an ordinary, lower class person, and quite frankly, you really are one.”

“It says he’s been playing for 12 hours.” Phichit pipes up, just as Viktor is about to protest “Either You are really bad at math, or Yuuri got to the bottle a lot earlier than you realised.” He turns off his phone again, and then he’s staring at the phone that holds Viktor’s guilty face, feeling slightly bad for him as Yuuri’s shouts continue to echo over the background noise.

“I think this is a good distraction for Otabek too.” He says slowly, surprising the two in bed with his sudden sincerity. “He’s been beating himself up over this internally… I could tell. And I’m worried too… but I guess I feel bad for not being as anxious as everyone else?”

“But that’s a good thing.” The Swiss frowns, not understanding where his friend is coming from. “You have a level head about this.”

“Yeah. But it makes me feel apathetic? I’m not actually, or so my head tells me, I just _feel_ I am. Maybe because I’ve run on impulse before and Yuri has too? So maybe in my head everything is fine?” Viktor tilts his head up to stare at the ceiling, blinking feverishly as if it could give him an answer, “Is there something wrong or—?”

“Of course not Viktor.” Phichit frowns, eyebrows creasing as he listens. He’s not as familiar with self-doubt as he knows he could be, especially since Yuuri had tended to hide that particular part of himself away, but he can understand Viktor on at least a personal level, and empathising in that regard is all he can do. “Everyone worries in their own ways. Yuuri is just more outward about it than you. There’s nothing wrong, you just process these things differently to him.”

“Exactly. “Chris cuts in, nodding, “There’s no textbook example for how to deal with a runaway teenage son.” He pauses to grin knowingly as Viktor snorts in amusement, “This isn’t figure skating where there’s a perfect balance for jumps; real life doesn’t work that way and unfortunately, neither do hormonally fuelled boys.”

No, they certainly didn’t, as everyone was discovering the hard way, but Viktor could certainly dream.

 

* * *

 

 

He blinks his eyes warily as he feels each pixel burn into his retinas permanently. The room is practically pitch black, spare the lighting from the monitors in front of them and Yuuri ca feel tears swell as he cuts off his vision momentarily. The sweet sensation of itchiness, in what he can only assume are now red eyes, reminds him just how long he’s been straining his already partially blind state.

Otabek audibly chugs at a water of water before gasping for air, screwing the cap back in place after satisfied with his water intake. He doesn’t feel the burn quite yet, but there is a slight discomfort that has begun to settle in.

“Yuuri, we should stop. It’s almost 10:30.” He says slowly, unsure as to how the other would take the suggestion. Otabek had endured quite the number of hours in gaming in order to appease Yuuri, and somewhere along the way, while yes, having fun, had grown concerned for the particular method of coping chosen. Didn’t Yuuri usually skate his troubles away?

“Oh my god you’re right.” He relents, sinking into the confines of his chair as best as he possibly can. It had been ours since he’d properly sobered up, while they were half way through raiding a village of its crops and Otabek had truly thought that wold be the end of their spontaneous Minecraft adventure.

Oh how wrong he’d been.

But alas, hours upon hours later, now that their bodies couldn’t physically handle anymore screen time in their tired and partially stressed states, the game had been closed and they’d sat I the dark room for a while longer, neither saying a word about anything.

Perhaps this is what happened when you put two nonverbal people in a room, one anxious to talk and the other having no need for such things. Even Otabek felt the need to discuss _something_ after five minutes of silence, and found himself breaking their quiet streak to address this.

“So...” He begins, unsure as to how else he should continue. It’s like an open ended question left out to dry, and he almost doesn’t expect an answer in response.

“Sew buttons on your underwear.” Yuuri replies calmly, turning his head to face him. His face contorts into that of confusion, repeating the odd phrase in his head to make sure he’s heard right. “It’s something you say to start a conversation.” The Japanese man explains.

“Well, it worked.” Otabek says lamely, “We’re talking.” He can tell he’s really not good at carrying out a conversation, and ‘beating around the bush’ as Yuri had once said, wasn’t helping either of their cases. There’s an elephant in this tiny room, and he wonders if he should poke it with a stick to see what happens, so he sucks in a deep breath and he jabs. “I confessed to Yuri. That’s why he ran away.”

The weight in the pit of his stomach doesn’t leave like it’s supposed to, so he can only assume it grows heavier with dread. “You… you told him you liked him?” Yuuri summarises, eyebrows arched, “I’m sorry he reacted so harshly.”

Otabek blinks in surprise, mind and heart racing as he tries to work out how the ‘this is all your fault’ talk would fit in. Yuuri seems to recognise his dilemma too, and sits up properly as he searches for Otabek’s face in the dark. “Otabek…I already said no one blames you. You can’t possibly… well, I suppose you do.” Yuuri sighs, “It’s hard to _not_ think it’s your fault, I get that, I’m in the same boat…but how Yuri reacted isn’t within your controlling… and before you begin, yeah I know, I’m a hypocrite, I’m still trying to tell myself the same thing.”

Otabek swallows the lump in his throat, fingers fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “I genuinely wish I hadn’t said anything.” He begins thickly, he wasn’t going to cry, but the hurt, well, hurt. “If I knew this would happen…”

“Don’t regret things like how you feel.” Yuuri cuts him off sternly, “That I can actually say. You’re human… I mean, unless you’re not, but what I’m trying to get at is that you do have a right to express how you feel.” Otabek doesn’t know if it fixes everything, but the weight within eases at Yuuri’s words.

“I’ll try to keep that in mind.” He promises, eyes drifting back to the abandoned screen. “But only if you take your own advice too.”

Yuuri doesn’t answer immediately, and as Otabek’s head fills with the deafening slice, he worries he’s pushed his boundaries too far. “Okay then.” Yuuri finally agrees, nodding with a look of consideration on his face, but the screen barely lights up the reflection on his glasses so it’s too hard to tell for sure. Yuuri stands, stretching his unused body as Otabek rises and does the same, every muscle tension with satisfaction and joints popping with released tension. He’s starting to feel better already as they fumble for the door.

The bright lights of the rest of the world greet that, blinding them in white and yellow flashes. Both of them blink rapidly, pupils squinting in protest as the door creaks shut behind them, and they take a few tentative steps back into the real world once more.

Viktor’s calls of Yuuri’s name reaches both of their ears, and soon said man is bundling his husband up in his arms, as if he’d just come home from a long trip. It makes Otabek smile, a fluttering feeling of want in his own chest, as he keeps his longing deep down.

He’s happy for them, perhaps a little disgusted by the amount of affection Viktor is displaying, but content and happy for them nonetheless. It’s most likely a scene that Yuri has witnessed before, he realises, and watches on as Viktor whisks Yuuri down the hallway. He smiles inwardly to himself as he imagines what the blonde teenager would say, and allows for the upturn of his lips to remain on his face. He doesn’t feel the need of an excuse to keep the smile, _he has a right to express how he feels anyway._

But if not for the happy couple that slept down the hall, or Yuuri who’d helped more than he’d ever know, then Otabek smiles for one thing, and that’s Yuri and what could have been.

 

* * *

 

 

He decides that the English language is stupid, and he’s sure that after spending all this time surrounded by it, he’ll become more fluent than the two geezers that called themselves his parents. “ _Da_ , I’ll call my stupid dad.” He slurs, thankful for the softness of the couch beneath him. It’s unnaturally warm in the small apartment, but perhaps that’s simply because it’s the middle of summer and he’s in a country that’s practically a desert.

Mark passed his phone over slowly.

Yuri takes a moment to work it, recognising the English alphabet instead of the familiar Cyrillic. His fingers slip and the phone drops in his lap twice, but eventually he manages to _somehow_ punch in the correct number and lets Mark press the button for loud speaker.

“Shhhh, it’s ringing!” he whispers, eyes wide and voice barely considered anything more than hushed. He runs his hand through short hair, scratching at the place they’re rooted in as the phone rings.

“ _Hai?_ ” Mark is no professional linguist, but he thinks that whoever Yuri has called is speaking Japanese. That, and his new foreign friend can also apparently speak _three languages_ almost fluently.

“ _Ohayo gozaimasu Otōsan!”_ He fumbles, swaying side to side as he nurses his water. “You’ll never believe what I’ve just learnt todayyyy~ ” There’s a pause from the other side of the phone, and Mark wonders if calling this “Otōsan” was the best decision. He reaches over to speak but Yuri snatches the phone, turning away on instinct. “No Marky, I n-need hiiiimmmm.”

“Who is… Oh my god – Yurochka?! Is that you?! Are you drunk!?Oh my god, okay— um, VIKTOR, IT’S YURI! VIKTOR GET OVER HERE, WE FOUND HIM!” The man on the other side practically screams, desperation leaking from his cracking voice. “Listen to me Yuri, do not end the call you hear me? Where are you?! Do you know how worried we are?! You _disappeared two weeks ago_ and we all thought— we thought— Yuri, we’ve…” The words are lost along the way and Mark tries to intercept the call again, causing the teen to whine and smack his hand away.

“Seriously rude Marky, I’m trying to talk on the phone.” Mark can only raise his hands in defence, trying to avoid being swatted at again.

“Yuri?!” A new voice joins the first, more broken and distorted. Mark has heard this kind of distortion before, mainly from younger women at the bar. Whoever the newcomer was had been crying, and judging by the fact that Yuri had finally contacted _someone_ after so long, it only made Mark want to help stabilise their bridge of communication. “Yuri Plisetsky! Where are you!?”

“Katsudon, shuuuttt him up!” His attention quickly shifts back to the phone. “I wanna— wanted to call you and tell you something Marky told me…he’s uh— dude I met.”

“Yuri, let me talk to them, they’ll probably want to—“ Yuri shoots the bar owner a glare.

This seems to get the man on the phone’s attention, the one who’d spoken in the foreign language now audibly calmer than before. ”Yuri, is someone with you? Put them on the phone please.” Mark takes it as his cue to take back the phone, but Yuri beats him to it, wiggling away to the other side of the couch.

“No!” The boy whines like a child, face scrunching up in anger. “You listen first to my amazing story and _then_ I’ll think about letting you talk to Marky.”

“Yuri please—“

“Y'all'dn't've cared about anything I say if was there!” He protests, and Mark begins to wonder why the legal age to consume alcohol is anything less than 18 in any other country, eyeing him carefully as his words become more incoherent. He’s starting to doubt the ethics of such varying legal requirements.

“You hear that?” Yuri cuts through again, genuine excitement on his face, “New word I learnt too – Marky taught me so many, Old Man, so many. They’re called _contractions_ , ya know, like fat ladies who poop out demon spawn? Did you know that Katsudon? Did ya? Y'all'dn't've – I like saying it, it’s like Russian words, but it means ‘you all would not have’! Isn’t that crazay!?”

He takes a moment to catch a breath, having seemingly forgotten to breathe throughout his tyranny. If the two men are this kid’s parents, Mark wants to give them a medal each for number one most patient parents in the world because by god, if _he_ did that as a child, he would have gotten an ass whooping every day until he turned 18.

“No Yuri, that’s quite fascinating.” The crumbly voiced male sighs, fatigue now settling in. “Why don’t you come back to Hasetsu with us and you can tell us more?” He’d never heard of a place called Hasetsu before, it didn’t sound like any of the places he’d ever been, but Mark supposed he couldn’t judge; they had a place called _Banana_ up in Queensland and _Eggs and Bacon Bay_ down in Tasmania _._ Mark didn’t even want to think about _Mamungkukumpurangkuntjunya Hill,_ which literally translated to ‘where the devil urinates’. No, he really didn’t want any flashbacks to his time in geography class, though he was sure that Yuri would find this fact in particular humorous.

“I ain’t going nowhere.” Yuri huffs out stubbornly, and it’s only then that Mark realises he still has to get the phone away from Yuri and make sure he falls asleep. “I’m leaving, you can’t come over, Marky only let me.” And before more could be said, he mashes the end call button and tosses the phone back proudly.

Mark stares dumbfound at his phone before pulling up his contact history. Yuri busies himself in the corner of his peripheral with the couch cushions and lies down. The number that had been called wasn’t one that he could recognise, and it most certainly wasn’t one from any of the other states in the country. The area code is “+7” and takes him a moment to work out exactly _where_ Yuri is from.

He does a quick google search as he tosses the half lucid boy a spare blanket. Russia. This kid doesn’t just have an accent, he’s _literally_ from Russia. _What the fuck_.

He knows that an international call is going to absolutely _destroy_ his phone bill, but he hits redial and calls the number immediately, biting his lip in trepidation. Yuri is asleep on his side before the second ring, and has begun to snore on the fourth. It’s the fifth, most nerve-wracking ring in the history of phone calls ever that cuts short, signally the call has connected through.

“Yuri?!” It’s the Japanese-speaking, he guesses, man from before.

“Um, no… not Yuri.” Mark says awkwardly, slowly backtracking from the living room and into his bedroom. “I’m uh, Mark? I live on top of a bar I run and you’re…son? Uh, he wandered in. I know I shouldn’t have given any alcohol to a minor but I was scared he would try something dangerous so I suggested he could come up and drink so I could at least monitor his health.” It wasn’t the most ethical solution to the problem, but it was almost 10 when Yuri had burst in, and no matter how much Mark had wanted to call the cops, he could see that the boy had been troubled, perhaps lost.

“Oh thank god.” The second voice genuinely sounds relieved, and based off the limited knowledge he’d gathered, he wouldn’t blame them. “Thank you so much Mark, I’m Viktor and the other here is Yuuri.” An odd choice of name for Yuri then, Mark thinks, but it wasn’t too uncommon for some parents to do such a thing.

“It’s ok, would you be able to pick him up? I didn’t mean to insert myself into the conversation but 2 weeks must have been hell for you, no?”

“It has been.” The one called Yuuri had agreed, followed by the sounds of shuffling in the background. A hollow thud echoes as Viktor swears aloud in what he can only assume is Russian. “Sorry, we’re rushing to pack.” _Hehe, Russian to pack,_ “Um, could we have an address?”

“Of course.” Mark pauses to recall the street name and number, going as far as providing the ZIP code for the suburb. He’s genuinely proud for remembering something he usually forgets, and so he waits for the confirmation that Yuuri has written it down.

“Thank you so much.” He can now hear the tint of a faint accent in his voice, perhaps Japanese as he’d first guessed or some other form of asian. Mark isn’t sure and doesn’t want to assume something then offend, but he does find himself curious about Yuri’s dads. Perhaps Yuri was Viktor’s child and that’s why there was a name to be shared. Perhaps he was adopted? Could Japanese and Russian homosexuals even _do_ that? Mark finds himself falling down a rabbit hole he’s not entirely sure he’ll be able to climb out of, almost missing Yuuri’s follow up question.

“Now um, just clarifying but… you _are_ in Australia… right?”

“Am I in… wait, you’re not in Australia?!” He finds himself staring at his bedroom wall in shock, regardless of already knowing this fact. The confirmation of such thing makes the whole scenario just a tad too real, and he realises that this family must be ridiculously rich if their _child_ could just up and leave the country for another.

“He went to Australia!? Phichit was right!” Viktor cuts in from afar, partial awe and worry, “He took the flight on our list then if we go by the address! I’ll tell the others!” Mark doesn’t want to know who ‘others’ implied, but concludes that Yuuri and Viktor are more than the world’s best parents and should be literally _crowned_ the kings of patience and kindness. Perhaps too much kindness— he would have been dead had he been Yuri.

“Thank you so much.” Yuuri sighs, “I know this is a lot to ask, but could you keep him there until we arrive? We’re in Hasetsu, Japan and the others looking for him are in Russia. Viktor and I will be able to make it in about 10 hours if we leave now.” Mark doesn’t even bother questioning why they’re in Japan.

“I’ll tell Otabek!” comes a distant shout.

Mark knows that he’s not a babysitter, and he knows that he’s passed his kindness quota for drunk and troublesome teenagers, but something this absurd simply never happens to him, and so with curiosity for the parents who managed to lose their child and find him _across the world_ , Mark readily agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading, I'm predicting and ending to things soon. Lets just say that we're about to reach the climax of the story hmm? This is gonna be a load of fun!
> 
> I'm almost too scared though, I'm gonna miss this fic. Anyways, that's still a way's away, thanks for reading!
> 
> (This story isn't beta read!)


	11. Small Boys and Their Names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sara was crying.  
> Michele was too.  
> Georgi had been sobbing since the text had come in.  
> Mila was laughing light-heartedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well let me just tell you, I left this chapter to the last minute and whew! I ended up staying up until 6 am to finish this chapter.
> 
> We've also surpassed the half way mark! We're heading for 20 chapters, and ah, i can't wait to write more angst.

 

The baby had been alive for 36 minutes and 47 seconds, and nothing would stop the heart shaped smile that gapped lovingly at the couple before him.

Eyes sparkling blue and thick bright locks curing around his pale head, the gurgling coos and delighted giggles were what had entranced the new parents, eyes wide and shocked, to see such a beautiful thing swaddled in pastel blue. It was almost unbelievable, after being led to believe that a child could never be theirs, the gods had seemingly heard all of their unanswered prayers.

“My god, he’s so _small._ ” Lilia whispered, gently cradling the child to her chest. Yakov was mesmerised by the baby boy, whose tiny arm had finally freed from the blankets as he waved about in greeting. He hadn’t had many experiences with babies, he wasn’t expecting to have one, and yet his wife’s smile had seemed to make up for all the misery their failed attempts had brought.

The baby giggled again as Lilia gently dabbed at his face with the corner of the blanket, wiping away dribble and residue as he flashed a gummy smile – she had a feeling that it’ll be a heartbreaker one day.

Yakov retrieved the baby’s basket quickly as he turned to shut the door, staring apprehensively at the envelope with the child’s name. He examined it between finger and fore thumb, as Lilia’s mumbling in the background caught his ear. He hadn’t heard such delighted laughs in so long, it was almost as if he didn’t deserve to ever hear something so sacred again. And then Yakov froze, eyes widening at the beautiful cursive handwriting staring up at him.

Lilia beckoned him over, gushing with the love that only a new mother could have. The bit of paper with handwriting was tucked in his pocket. It felt surreal, and perhaps it was, to see his wife with a child that could be called their own. The baby grinned, eyes almost too large for his tiny face, and nose so prominent it was perfect. It was their dream, to have this and more, and finally it was within their arms like a blessing. It almost made him hopeful, but Yakov didn’t want to hold out on a hope because—

 

“Lilia, we need to call the authorities, they need to find the parents.”

 

– _Viktor Nikiforov_ , no patronymic, was _not_ their son.

* * *

 

 

The letter was left with the judge who read it once over before shrugging, in a way that Viktor found almost too funny. He laughed, a childish toddler laugh as Lilia scolded him for his ill manners. He didn’t know any better, but he hushed to appease her, nuzzling into her neck as Yakov spoke with the strange people. He wanted to know why they were all dressed in such funny clothes, or why these two people he’d seen often were with him now.

There were so many questions such a tiny child had, but none could be given for now. It didn’t matter – what Viktor didn’t know wouldn’t kill him, and it wasn’t like he was completely in the dark either.

He knew parts. Or so he thought he did. He knew that people have mommies and daddies but sometimes they don’t, and then new mommies and daddies take them. He understood that Lilia and Yakov were supposed to be his new parents, he understood that they had been going through the legal process since the day they’d found him.

He didn’t understand why he wasn’t allowed to call Yakov ‘dad’.

He’s three when he leaves the big strange place, and he didn’t turn back as he bid farewell to the friends he’d made in such short time. It was like a new adventure to unknown lands, like the fairy tales the caretakers would read to him. His mouth curved into the familiar delighted grin that his new parents had seen when they’d first met him, and he felt proud that they’d smiled at his expression.

If he could make them that happy every day, then he thought it would be the best thing ever.

There’s a copy of the same letter that Yakov had found three years ago, the original having been kept for the records. It wasn’t a pretty letter, there was no lover or compassion within the hasty chicken scrawl, but one day he hoped that he’d be able to give it to Viktor, and explain further what had happened to his true parents that day. For then, as he watched his wife swaddle the child, patting his head as she gently nudged it to lay rest, Yakov was convinced that the extra waiting had been worth it, and allowed himself to smile as Viktor fell asleep.

He didn’t look anything like the both of them, like a true son of theirs would. He’s got gorgeous blue eyes and too long silver hair, running down to the edge of his shoulders with rather pale skin to match. A moon child, is what Yakov first thought, and as he helped Lilia to buckle him into the new booster seat, the grip on the new birth certificate tightened ever so slightly.

“Fank Ooo faw liking me.” Viktor mumbled quietly, chubby cheeks puffed out as he sighs.

Yakov didn’t cry, something simply got in his eye.

 

* * *

 

 

Viktor was 5 years old when he learnt for the first time, that not _everything_ could be as perfect as he’d hoped.

“My shirt is crinkled!” He complained, fidgeting furiously as he tugged on his shirt, the creases in the arms ever present. He tried to smooth them out, slowly lowering his arms in what was a false pretence of success before he frowned again in defeat. The creases didn’t let up, and it had only worsened the situation. Lilia could practically see the ticking time bomb above her son’s head.

“Viktor, everyone has wrinkles in their clothes, see? Even I do.” Lilia scolded, showing the folds in her own, waiting patiently as Viktor sobbed. He threw himself to the ground, the plush foam squares with letters on them cushioning his fall, as he kicked and he screamed in protest. Lilia was patient, but certainly not for forever, and she sighed as she sat in defeat. “What do you want to do then Viktor? It’s cold outside.”

“NOTHING!” He screamed, throwing his head up to glare. It was the only logical solution in his mind to be fair. “I DON’T LIKE CRINKLY CLOTHES!” And they were off before she could stop him, sighing as his small body disappeared into the open living quarters. Lilia didn’t want to chase after a small, energetic child, but she knew that she’d have to, and soon there was a small child running around Yakov naked as he spoke with someone in the kitchen.

Because of course.

“Lilia, your kid’s naked again!” Yakov shouted, as if on cue, shooting a glare at the woman in question, “Get him under control for fuck’s sake!”

Viktor giggled, running around and ducking from Lilia’s reach, clinging to the leg of whoever it was that Yakov had been talking to. He stopped, eyes wide, staring directly into the soul of the man with a dramatic gasp, hands flying to his mouth in astonishment. ”H-he said a bad word!”

“He did, did he?” The man laughed lightly, patting Viktor’s head, “Well that’s not very good is it?”

“Nikolai, sorry about him, he’s –“

”Ah nonsense.” The man laughed, ruffling Viktor’s hair, “What’s your name kid?”

“Viktor!” Viktor stated proudly, puffing out his chest in pride. “Viktor-No-Patonnonmic-Nikiforov!”

He couldn’t pronounce that word correctly yet, but for some reason he was trying his best to nail it, having introduced himself that way to every single person ever since he’d been adopted. Yakov was sure he didn’t even know the meaning of ‘patronymic’, but the way that the child had said it always turned heads.

Yakov bit the inside of his cheek, almost feeling bad for the lack of something between the two. A sore subject between his wife and he, but something he’d been convinced was right anyway. Viktor wouldn’t want his name – he knew he’d regret it in the future.

“Well Viktor, it’s nice to meet you.” The man said, “I’m Nikolai Plisetsky, a friend of your Yakov’s! Now what’s a little boy like you doing without clothes on?” Viktor didn’t get to respond however, as Lilia had finally caught him in her grip, sighing as she snatched her away from the kitchen.

Viktor didn’t remember to answer the question, instead he got distracted fighting Lilia as she tried to compromise with him instead. A full body swimsuit then, instead of his clothes if he must, but only at home was it fine.

Later it would spark the interest for costumes in glitter and sequins, but that wasn’t for much later.

Viktor No-Patronymic Nikiforov smiled his heart shaped smile, and only did it falter a little as Yakov yelled distantly for Lilia.

 

* * *

 

 

They say that double digits meant you were grown up, and Viktor supposed “they”, whoever that may be, were right. 10 was most certainly a big boy number. After all, it was 3 away from 13, which was only 2 away from 15, and everyone knew that 15 meant you were a teenager which was practically code for grown up – so yeah, Viktor was a grown up now.

He was familiar with the routine by now. Wake up at 6am, have dance practice until 9, much to Lilia’s insistence, attend school until 3 and then go home. That was where he’d see Yakov and Mr Plisetsky, their usual chatter about who knows what flying over his head. Occasionally he’d hear something about ice, and Mr Plisetsky’s son, and then Yakov’s coaching job, whatever that entailed.

Viktor never paid more attention than that, choosing to occupy himself with drawing or books and music.

He was grown up now after all, making his own decisions with his spare time, and he knew that if he didn’t find something then he’d have to listen to the inevitable—

“LILIA YOU HAG!”

That.

The heart shaped smile that most certainly could steal hearts had slipped from his face, only staying when he was able to distract himself. By then, at around 8pm, after Mr Plisetsky had left for he couldn’t stay long with his own family to attend to, it would become the three of them only. That always meant there was yelling, and loud mumbling, and Viktor was lost, with confused thoughts jumbling in his head. He never called Yakov and Lilia “mom” and “dad”, and he was almost thankful then for that early made decision. He knew he didn’t have his real ones – it never had bothered him before, but he did admit that he wished he could understand a genuine family’s connection.

Sometimes Viktor wondered if other kids were thinking the same things as him, if they had the same concerns as he did. But that couldn’t be it, the other kids in his school weren’t like him. It never did bother him, he knew he was an odd one and had embraced the uniqueness willingly, even if it often came with name calling. He had more important things to worry about after all.

“YOU FORGOT TO PAY THE BILLS YOU IDIOT!” Lilia’s voice was higher and louder, echoing in a rather sharp shriek. Viktor preferred her voice as opposed to Yakov’s louder more threatening tones. He knew it wasn’t intentional, somehow he’d drawn the conclusion that men were just build scarier than women.

He didn’t want to be like that to his future wife.

Viktor didn’t smile, and instead he climbed out of his window, in true Nikiforov style. He hoped at least, that his family name was dramatic, because that’s where he wanted to believe he gained such flair from. One foot, then the other, and soon he was out into the freezing Moscow winter, only knowing one other home aside from his own that he could go to.

Yakov would be mad when he found out, Lilia would lose her shits. But neither would know until the phone call from Nikolai, explaining that Viktor had made his way over casually.

And so Viktor discovered the magic of ice skating as he came burling into Mr Plisetsky’s home, being shown medals and videos of a much younger Yakov and Mr Plisetsky as they skate. The smile was back on his face, shining and bright as the colour of his eyes become jewel like.

“I wanna be like that.” Viktor sighed dreamily, and he made sure to ask Yakov the next chance he got because angry or not, Viktor was glad he’d discovered something so beautiful. He’d dance, he decided. He’d dance and he’d dance and create music with the ice, and then he’d make Yakov and Lilia proud of him, with the same happiness and fond smiles as he remembered them to have.

 

* * *

 

 

“You’re an idiot, you think a baby is actually going to fix this?”

Viktor didn’t really pay much attention to the arguing couple in the living room, he was 13 and fairly used to the idea that couples argued by then. It was a rather sad thing to be accustomed too. At least that’s how Nikolai had made it appear every time Viktor simply shrugged off his apology on behalf of the other family.  Yakov and Lilia had finally divorced after a rather surprisingly peaceful agreement, and everyone knew it was for the best. Viktor knew it was for the best. Wedding and marriage were great, but sadly they didn’t always last.

Nikolai had tried to make a point of showing the healthier sides to marriage, the better more content parts, but with his own son arguing with his partner in the room next to them, that point was quickly drowned out by the arguing.

Viktor was now skating, and professionally at that. Goodbye were the days of public school education and hello were the home schooling and tutors. Viktor could handle this type of schedule much easier; there weren’t as many children to make fun of his thigh-length hair anymore or his weird tastes in sports. Not that it had bothered him completely, he’d always let the haters hate, but it was nice to know that where he was headed, there wasn’t going to be such pressures anymore.

“We agreed! We said it’d be a new start!” Mr Plisetsky offered a sheepish apology, the same as the others, for his son and his daughter-in-law, leading the child down to the guest room quickly. It was the furthest away from the pair and the one that would allow them to talk peacefully. Viktor may have been used to the yelling, but Nikolai didn’t want to encourage it. On days where Yakov was stuck at the rink, Viktor would occupy his time with Mr Plisetsky, and the two would watch old clips of the figure skating world he’d never see anywhere else.

They were grainy at best and in terrible condition, but they mesmerised him all the same.

“I didn’t know Yakov was so good.” Viktor gasped, eyes wide. He watched as a younger, much more athletically built Yakov twirled on the ice. It would have been so long ago that it had happened, for Yakov had more hair on his head than he did currently. Something like that was almost hard to comprehend if he wasn’t watching it before his very eyes. ”And you too! You’re also really, really good! I learnt the double toe loop yesterday Mr Plisetsky, you gotta see it.”

Mr Plisetsky smiled at the enthusiasm, and only hoped that Viktor never lost such motivation.

 

* * *

 

 

“Viktor Nikiforov steals the first place, breaking the world record for the men’s free skate!”

He was only 16, with a poodle in tow, a pink Cadillac at home and a bank account with more zeroes than exes he had, had. He didn’t need a middle name, or a family or friends, he was perfectly content with his life and all that it was.

It was supposedly a sad thing he’d grown accustomed to, but being a national treasure meant sacrifices had to be made, so Viktor took the with all his hope that at least _Yakov_ could see all his efforts. Among the gruelling training, the photoshoots and promotional materials, Viktor had always kept his sights set on his true goal. He wanted Lilia, even if he rarely saw her, and Yakov, to be proud.

He wanted to see that smile on their faces again.

The smile on his face was beautiful, showing off his perfect teeth and porcelain skin. He winked, something he admitted to having practiced in the mirror once, or twice, or a bajillion times, and the cameras ate it up like their next meal.

He indulged in the blinding lights, considering them like bright stars in his dark sky. Later, he’d find an even brighter sun that would warp all of those stars out of the pictures, but for now, the fake ones would do.

Yakov waited at the kiss and cry, gruff posture ever since they’d moved to St Petersburg, and he rolled his eyes at the charming spells Viktor threw to his fans.

“Don’t be arrogant.” Yakov grits his teeth, eyeing the monster he felt responsible for creating. An astounding monster, one who had captured the hearts of millions, feeding off the egotistical boost like a mother’s love. Yakov wondered where he’s gone wrong as a parental figure, and tried putting a foot down like Lilia had once done, but it was left ignored in favour for the reporters that had swarmed them.

He didn’t understand why Viktor was so try hard, or why Viktor had changed so much. What was once a modest child, a bit shy and humble, had become swallowed whole by opportunities and attention. He felt like a failure, and was sure that Lilia would smack him up the head too.

He’d deserve the metaphorical slap.

“Viktor Nikiforov, do you know what you’ll be doing for next year’s grand prix final?”

“My absolute best.” Viktor presumptuously grinned, “I couldn’t have done it this season without my fan’s support! Oh, and Yakov.”

He felts like an odd afterthought, but really, Yakov couldn’t blame him. He had been treating Viktor the same for years. Perhaps he should have been more like Lilia, but there was no good in hopeful wishing, now he could only watch.

They eventually wormed their way out of the crowds, Yakov overhearing Viktor mention something about a certain Christophe Giacometti as they took a taxi home. It’s a good thing that that year’s competition was local. Whether the mystery person was a new boyfriend or a casual hook up, Yakov didn’t really want to know, and had promptly ignored anything more that Viktor had said following.

Like a second nature, or another routine, it was expected for the teenager to return to his room with his dog and not leave until morning, and Yakov almost let him before quickly speaking up his name almost hesitantly.

“Yes Yakov?” Viktor questioned, confused. He should be, they never talk after a competition, and this had been a first. As much as Viktor loved surprises, that one had him a little lost for words. Yakov sighed, uncertain as to if he should continue, but he did, because he knew that it had to be said, regardless of the oncoming war, and then he opened his mouth.

“You need to stop this.” He began, and he immediately regret it, “You can’t be so naïve, winning isn’t everything Viktor, one day a gold medal isn’t going –“

“What counts is winning.” Viktor cut in, eyebrows furrowed, “That’s the whole point of a competition?”

Yakov squinted, biting at his lip. “Vitya—“

“Please don’t call me that.” Yakov hadn’t expected that, for once struggling to repress the emotions that had hit him full on. He was confused, but said nothing more and instead listened. Viktor’s next words were bitterer, and sterner as he turned around to completely face his coach, “Yeah, yeah, you’re worried, think it’s going to my head but it’s not. I know what I’m doing Yakov, I’m not a little kid.”

Viktor had high hopes that Yakov could be proud, for once instead of yelling, or grunting, or scowling. For once he thought he could make someone he considered family proud with a gold medal, or a good performance, but it simply wasn’t the case.

Maybe it was because they simply _weren’t_ family.

“Today said otherwise.”  The man insisted, “You were getting cocky—“

“And I’m a teen!” Viktor shouted, surprised himself at how quickly he’d burst, “I just want you to say _something_ aside from ‘do better Viktor!’ ‘lousy posture Viktor!’ ‘fix your free leg Viktor—‘ No I don’t want to fix my godamn free leg and I’ll shove it up your ass if you tell me again! Why can’t you be happy for me? I won _gold_ Yakov, I’m _happy_ … and all I wanted was to please you! My parental figure? But maybe that’s the problem… maybe I keep trying to seek approval from someone who never wanted to be there in the first place!”

“You’re an idiot.” Yakov growled, stomping madly to his room. “I’m helping you win! That’s my bloody job!”

“So it’s Coach before parent is it?!” Viktor retaliated, Makkachin now by his side. The poodle softly whined at the growing tension, rubbing into Viktor’s hand as he grit his teeth. He didn’t cry but his face was a rather unattractive snarl, rivalling the otherwise handsome face.

_He didn’t cry, he wasn’t going to cry_.

Yakov returned, paper in hand as he practically threw it into Viktor’s face, a finger pointed accusingly at him. “There, have your parental approval.” He threatened, and Viktor froze as he clutched the letter, “There was a reason why I made you call me by my name and nothing else, because whatever ideas that were running in that overgrown head of yours? Stupid. All of it.”

The walls shook violently as Yakov slammed his bedroom door shut, and Viktor’s lips trembled as tears cascaded down his face. It wasn’t pretty, distorting the perfect image he’d maintained.

And the heartshape smile _broke_.

 

* * *

 

 

Yuri Plisetsky was nothing like his grandfather, or what Viktor supposed he remembered of Mr Plisetsky anyway. It was hard to make judgement, especially when he hadn’t seen the aforementioned man since he’d moved to St Petersburg, but if it was anything to go by, little Yuri appeared to be in his care.

Viktor wanted to know the story behind that, only having had overheard Yakov’s phone calls with the old friend occasionally. He didn’t know that Mr Plisetsky had a grandson, a 13 year old grandson at that, and after doing the math, he’d realised that that baby, the one that had been the focus of an argument, back when he himself was only a teenager, had become something of a real person.

Well, that certainly made him feel old.

Of course, they’d met prior, once or twice when the younger had been 9. Viktor would never forget their escapades in his hot pink Cadillac or the delighted cheers from the boy as Mr Plisetsky had spoken with Yakov. The yelling had been worth it too.

Viktor had long forgotten Yuri’s existence by the time he was ready to join the Russian skating team, and so it was like meeting a new person all together.

“So you’re Viktor.” He had snorted, giving Viktor a judgmental glare. For a small child, he had quite a lot of sass, and Viktor had still been trying to figure out where the rest could possibly fit in his small body. He was 26, it’s been 10 years since he’s moved out of Yakov’s place and gotten his own, and a gruelling 10 years as they worked out their differences. So much time and yet he still wasn’t sure how to respond to a child.

Viktor didn’t like to think back on that argument with Yakov. That had been by far the worst, yet most impactful months of his life. The letter he’d been given had only made him feel worse, reading words that had been hastily written with a hand he’d never held. They’d been rather empty. Simply stating a wish for Viktor to be placed under the care of whoever’s doorstep he’d been left on, like a used rag or toy doll.

He’d cried a lot more tears after realising that there weren’t even consideration for him, he’d been unwanted, and he’d been unloved. And at the bottom had been an official statement that his mother had been found months later, only to be pronounced dead and his father missing. The scenario had left a terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach, and he’d only felt worse after realising that Yakov really was the best that he’d had. But enough had been enough and there was nothing more that Viktor wanted from the argument.

Viktor had moved out four months later, after radio silence between Yakov and him. It had been Lilia who was sick of dealing with Viktor’s moping after a couple more months, and had ended up forcing them to talk their differences out regardless of how much of a struggle that had actually been.

“I can’t be that person you want me to be.” Yakov had sighed tiredly, “I… I’m not like that idea in your head… I’m sorry I can’t meet your expectations Viktor.” The apology was difficult, as expected for someone of Yakov’s nature, but it had also been difficult for Viktor too.

Viktor had nodded, trying his best to understand, to meet his coach where he was, and despite the awkwardness of two people who had never opened up, he smiled a halfway, almost there, heart shaped smile as he pulled the older man in for a hug. “I know.” Viktor mumbled, uncaring as to how his coach had taken it. Yakov had never been big on physical gestures. “You show it in your own way… I’m sorry I was… too foolish to see that.” He stepped back, eyes shining, and if Yakov teared up he’d said nothing.

“— LACE UP AND GET ON THE ICE!” He yelled pointedly at Yuri before warning Viktor with a stare. Viktor and he didn’t have the same relationship as they’d had before, but he was certain it was a lot stronger and more capable. He waved with his signature smile, following Yuri as they made their way to their Coach, and he wrapped him up in an unexpected hug.

“Vitya— Viktor, get to work.” His voice was softer by a smidgen as he corrected the slip up he’d made, but nobody could tell besides Viktor, who hummed thoughtfully as they separated.

“Vitya, Yakov.” He beamed confidently, turning to Yuri as he went. He pulled the blonde into a tight side hug before kissing his head teasingly, laughing as Yuri screamed in protest at the affection.

He gave it five minutes maximum before Yakov lost his shit, waiting for the never to come end of Yuri and he’s loud banter. “YURI! VITYA! STOP FOOLING AROUND AND GET TO WORK YOU SLACKERS!”

Yuri scoffed, skating off quickly, and Viktor grinned happily. The same insults, a different meaning, and he was all the more happy with how things had changed.

 

* * *

 

 

“Yuuri broke off the engagement.” Viktor whispered, tears slipping down his face. His eyes were blood red, and his hair a dull, greasy, grey. Even his sin was pasty and purple with eye bags. Not many people had the privilege of seeing him at his worst, but Yakov had, and it was something he’d hoped he’d never see again.  Yuri stood beside him, dumfound, and their coach sighed, at a loss for words. They hadn’t expected Viktor to run to them so late at night, and they hadn’t expected _that_. But alas, there he was, and Yuri really wanted to find the pig so he could punch some sense into his thick head.

He was beginning to wonder who truly had the bigger head in that relationship…

Ex, relationship.

It didn’t sound right, nor had it seemed real. The power couple of how many years? Suddenly ending? Yuri never had the ideal family to base judgements off, he’d gone by what society had dictated ‘normal’ and left it at that. But Viktor and Yuuri? They were— had been – the closest thing to what media had always dictated. Something had to have been wrong, a relationship that close couldn’t fall apart so quickly.

With a screech, suspiciously sounding like a cat, Yuri had declared that he’d find Yuuri himself to put a stop to the petulant situation, and without a second given for protests he’d left the apartment, and Viktor was put in Yakov’s care.

Yakov was no family man. He’d been divorced from Lilia and was now living in her home with Yuri years later. An ironic turn of events sure, but it painted a rather clear picture that him and marriages didn’t mix well. Viktor never realised how easy it would be to end up like his coach, regardless of how careful he’d thought he’d been

But broken hearts? Well, maybe there was some common ground there.

“Vitya.” Yakov had grumbled, testing the waters, “Vitya, what happened?”

“I don’t know!” Viktor had wailed, face buried into Yakov’s neck, and the man could only pat his back comfortingly as he let him sob. “He just… came home from the rink… He’d been anxious about something lately and then— he said it should end, we shouldn’t go through with the wedding! Why Yakov? I thought… I thought this was it! We were gonna get married next week and…and…”

There was nothing more to be said as he dissolved into hysterics again, and despite never having been the father Viktor had wanted him to be, a protective instinct had overcome Yakov where he’d only wanted Viktor to calm down.

And suddenly he was 5 again, and tiny, and had _long hair_. Yakov could remember almost every fit that Viktor had ever had and could only sit with the dawning realisation just how much he’d been needed in those times. Just how much he’d neglected that responsibility. Was he therefore, as bad as Viktor’s biological parents?

Well, no. Unlike those people, Yakov had been present still, even if he wasn’t the best man for that particular job.

“Vitya, whatever has happened, you’re strong.” He’d never left himself give pep talks so emotional before, but that wasn’t the time for such concerns. What mattered was Viktor and his broken heart, and he wanted to blame _something_ for his pain. Yakov could remember a small baby, could envision the smile – he could remember Lilia claiming he’d break hearts of his own one day. Never had there been words for someone breaking _his_. Yakov refused to admit that ‘the end’ was simply there, and regardless of his own denial or not, had voiced his beliefs confidently. “That boy loves you, and you love him. If it is as you say then there has to be a reason for this sudden thing.”

The two Yu(u)ris would return half an hour later, with an explanation of cold feet and fears spilling from Yuuri’s lips. When he’d see Viktor, he’d run into his arms and kiss him, tears streaming down both of their faces and Yakov and Yuri would give them their much needed privacy. Alone, Yuri would tell Yakov about Yuuri’s anxiety, and the panic attack he’d helped him go through, and then they’d both agree that’d it be okay, and they were fine, and things would carry out the way they had planned with their wedding. Yakov would realise that the bad could bring strength to the good, that not all marriages were doomed, and Yuri would learn that found families were forever and promises weren’t always empty. But until then, until the hurt was gone and the peace was restored, until Yuri could bring sense to a matter so small, Yakov attends to the one role he’d never filled in before.

Viktor clutched at his shirt, and sobbed some more, he’ was 28, turning 29, and a mess of an adult, but Yakov was only seeing, only comforting, only petting a 5 year old’s hair, hugging him closer to his chest in good faith.

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m honestly shitty at wedding speeches, and half of the people there don’t speak Russian, and I don’t speak Japanese, so I’ll say this to the two of you because really, there’s no one else it really needs to be said for.” Yakov sighed, fingers fiddling in his coat’s pockets. He was still new to the ‘wearing your heart on your sleeve’ concept, a bit like Viktor who’d only grown accustomed to such thing after meeting Yuuri. But Yakov was glad that the old, curious Viktor, had returned, and he wanted to thank the gods for something good finally coming to someone who deserved it and much more.

“Take care of each other, _da_?” He began, licking his lips as he went, “Stay strong, together, and when shit hits the fan… remember this day and the promises you made to each other.”

That was all he needed to say, he didn’t need to ramble about Viktor’s youth, or Yuuri’s influence, since they both knew that already. So he nodded, raising his glass to the two of them, drinking and releasing a soft smile, patting both on the back in congratulations.

Viktor’s eyes widened, brimming with tears as he smiled, and by god, does Viktor smile so much, like everything he sees is a wonder. Yuuri stood, equally honoured beside him, his own surprised face painted in gratitude.

Yakov had seen the way Viktor and Yuuri look at each other, like they paint the stars in each other’s sky every night. A part of him silently wished that Lilia and he were still like that. The truth was that they weren’t, despite being in a better space now than they were in the past. But he had faith that the two skaters before him would be just fine.

Yakov felt a tug in his chest, something he didn’t outwardly vocalise but was sure that Viktor had noticed. It went unsaid, only latter to be questioned, but by then Yakov would simply claim he’d forgotten. It was in that moment he could see just how _in love_ the silver haired man was, and he could see how much more _alive_ he had been in years. Yakov realised that he’d almost forgotten what a genuinely happy Viktor looked like, having to strain his old memory for times when he was small.

Viktor had never been referred to as a son, or he a father in his blue eyes, and perhaps Yakov partially regretted that now. It was too late to change a name, too late to offer a middle one besides the new one between the two old. Yakov knew he’d missed his chance when he’d declined Lilia’s suggestion, knew he’d completely lost it when he’d ousted Viktor at 16. But now, as they danced in their first dance as new _husbands_ , oh lord, they grew up fast, Yakov would be happy to know that things had finally changed.

Viktor was no longer just ‘ _The_ Viktor Nikiforov’, or ‘Viktor No-Patronymic Nikiforov’, it wasn’t some chicken scratch on an envelope abandoned. His name had become something meaningful, something he cherished, it was a mouthful of syllables and love, and it was –

 

“To Vitya and Yurachka, may your marriage be ever filling in life and in love!”

 

_—Viktor Katsuki-Nikiforov._

 

* * *

 

 

The phone call awakens him with a start, and at first Yakov wonders why he’s being called at 3 am. It doesn’t take long to process the situation, especially after he recognises the ringtone that belongs to Viktor. He’s 30, or was it still 29? Yakov can’t remember how long it’s been since Viktor was an incompetent 10 year old, but it doesn’t matter because he’s still a man-child at 30. He thought it’d be over when he was married, signing off all of the weird queries to his unfortunate spouse, but that idea had sadly only seemed to be occasional; he did suppose Yuuri needed a break too.

So Yakov sighs, swiping the phone screen once, and mentally prepares himself to listen to whatever woes Viktor has now, not fully comprehending much else in his sleep hazed state. He’s ready for it to be something stupid, something dub. He almost expects it to be about wanting that damn pony he saw four months ago. The coach groans, grunting “Hmm?” into the receiver lazily, but he does not prepare himself for what he hears instead.

“We found him.” Viktor practically sobs, voice shaky and cracking as he speaks gibberish. He’s speaking in rapid Russian, an almost horrid english accent trailing as he desperately communicates his message. It’s a little tell of his, to speak so terribly his mother tongue in intense situations, and it’s this that begins the mantra. “We found him, we found him, we found _Yuri_.”

Yakov bolts upright, eyes wide as he stares into the black of night. It doesn’t offer him affirmation for what he _thinks_ he’s heard. It doesn’t reassure him he’s simply having one of his too hopeful dreasm again. He wants to pinch himself to make sure he’s heard right. “You found him?!” He practically yells, and he can hear Lilia stirring from the guest bedroom.

That didn’t matter, Lilia needed to be awake for this anyway.

“YES!” Viktor yells back, “W-we found him! W-we a-are on our way to g-get him! Australia, Yakov! He _was_ in Australia! He-he’s okay, an-and we’re going to go now!”

His heart speeds up as Lilia enters, flicking the light switch on as she rushes to his side.

“What? What’s going on?” She asks frantically, pulling the phone from his grasp to listen in. He allows her, pressing the loudspeaker button frantically.

“Lilia?!” Viktor’s voice sobs, “Oh my god, Lilia, we found Yuri! I’m c-crying s-s-so much! We’re g-going t-to get the n-next flight to Australia! But this is it! We found him! We’ve found our _p-precious b-b-boy!_ ”

“You found him!?” Lilia screams, kicking Yakov to move aside and make room for her to settle too. Her hearts beating faster as she exchanges a look with Yakov.

It’s over. Their search was over. Yuri had been found, it was going to be okay.

“W-we’ll text you after w-we find him.” Viktor sniffles, voice congested as he takes in shaky breaths. “I-it may be a few days, d-depending on how things go, but we’ll figure something out.”

“Of course.” Yakov answers, brain still reeling at the news. _Yuri was okay, Yuri was okay, Yuri was okay…_

His brain chants it like a song in his head, and he swears, for the final season he spends coaching Yuri on ice, before he hands over the reins officially to Viktor and Yuuri, that he’ll commission a song with those words, and those words only, and force the boy to take gold with it.

Yuri was okay.

Their calls ends momentarily afterwards, so that Viktor can board his flight with Otabek and Yuuri. Yakov doesn’t know what they’ll find, or what will happen and if Yuri lashes out or not. He’s worried, _so_ worried that something will happen, but he’s sure that if anyone can handle the boy, it’ll be the people already on their way. Yuri was in safe hands, and that eased him just a bit.

He wishes he could do more, Yakov gains a sense of déjà vu for a time similar with Viktor that makes his heart pound and a few more hairs fall from his head. He thinks he’d be able to handle it better this time than the first, he knows now that he’s had experience.

But that doesn’t matter right now; the yelling, the scolding, the reasons and rhymes as to why anything ever happened _don’t matter_. What matters is that—

“Yuri is safe.” Lilia sighs in relief, the finality of her words sinking into the air.

“Yeah.” Yakov breathes, staring at her dishevelled state. Here hair isn’t in the prim and proper bun as it usually is and her face is strewn with sleep. She observes him with hawk eyes though, still observing and somewhat alert despite her appearance, and before he can comprehend anything more, Lilia presses a quick kiss to his lips before flopping onto the bed with a snort.

She laughs, it’s an ugly laugh, and something Yakov didn’t expect to hear. He’s confused, slightly flushes, and suddenly he has the same woman who he’d divorced years ago, tucked into his side as she calms down.

“Viktor turned out alright, didn’t he?” She asks, staring at the ceiling.

“Yea.” Yakov doesn’t say much more.

“I think… I think they’ll be fine, don’t you?” It’s uncharacteristic of her to be so spontaneous, and he wants to blame it on the spur of events for the rather unexpected surprise. Yakov doesn’t give an answer, and instead, Lilia answers her own question with a hum, slowly turning to face Yakov in thought. _He feels like a love-struck fool all over again._

Is this how Viktor felt? Had he really missed out on this for so long? It’s strange even thinking so pessimistically about marriages now, and he’d been doing that for years.

“They’ll be fine, just as us.” Lilia finishes, sitting up. “I know it.”

 

* * *

 

 

Hiroko sighs tiredly as she clears up the kitchen, its table surface littered with flour. Her husband is assisting Mari with the guest bedrooms, the ones that had previously occupied tourists, while she closes the kitchen for the night.

It’s far emptier at the Onsen after Otabek, Yuuri and Viktor leave. Their absence is like a slap to the face.

She’s relieved though, the burdening weight finally gone from her shoulders, and she can move freely without as much worry as she’d had before.

A mother always worries for her children, whether they were by blood, law, honorary or other means. She’s rather blessed to be able to have a bit of all, to provide care for the few that she’s met, and she’s thankful that Yuuri’s finally got his own to look after.

She smiles fondly at the table perched opposite the TV. It’s an old model, she’s heard that comment one too many times but has no care in the matter. It’s the same television she’s seen Yuuri stare at for hours at a time, watching his idol skate and inspire her son. It’s the television that would stay on for hours upon hours, and replay taped footage of Viktor and competitions. It was also the same television that would later show Yuuri, and prove just how dedicated he had become to the ice.

Hiroko smiles fondly at those moments, those memories, and she sits quietly at the table for nostalgia.

This table has served many people, some returning an others never to be seen again, but nonetheless they each told a special story. To the left of where Hiroko sits is where Yuuri usually does, having preferred to have a designated spot when he’d dine. At her left is a spot where their small Vicchan would sit, because dogs, although not human, would be welcomed with the same love. Later, that spot changed and became the person with a namesake, and Hiroko would gain her second son.

Viktor wasn’t like Mari or Yuuri, but then and again the two blood related were nothing alike anyway so the comparison itself was rather silly. Hiroko’s first impressions of him, in person, not from the television, had always been strange, and admittedly unlike what others had first seen. Quiet, was the best way to describe him, despite everyone knowing very well how loud the Russian could be. Reserved, even when he’d flirt with her Yuuri and scared, when he’d be bold. Perhaps the reason Hiroko could see this, and more if she’d dared, was because Viktor was akin to herself.

Opposite her spot was the final spot, a spot that never had been filled in before. It faces away from the television, something she’d never seen this person on until she’d met him, and it blocks everyone from the view of said device.

Yuri Plisetsky was no mystery to Hiroko. Much like Viktor, she could tell when he was troubled. Call it a second nature, or a mother’s instinct, she’d known, and his story practically radiated off of himself when he sat down at the table.

Hiroko places a hand on her cheek and leans, placing her weight against the elbow on wood. She loves her family dearly, and worries when one is hurt, and while she was scared for them all when Yuri had disappeared, she finds herself, for once in her life, surprised, that she isn’t so anymore.

“Mari!” She calls out, finally standing from her place, an eye lingering on the pictures on the screen. Her eldest daughter appears, eyebrow raised as she approaches and clears up the table. There’s no need for direction in a family business she’s been a part of her whole life. “Turn off the television’s power when you’re done with that please.” Hiroko says absentmindedly, catching the younger girl off guard with the unusual request, watching as her mother slips back to the kitchen to clean.

 

* * *

 

 

“He’s been found.” Chris mumbles in disbelief, eyes wide on the rather short text on his phone.

“Yuri has been found.’ Phichit repeats, his own device in hands as he reads.

Yuuri’s text is much longer, more elaborate, while Chris’ is a simple _we found him_. The Swiss skater can’t be mad though – he understands, and almost wants to scream with relief as Phichit continues the explanation.

“Called drunk apparently, is in Australia… and they’re on a flight right now.” He summarises, looking up to meet gaze with the blonde. “Holy crap we found him by pure accident.”

“So this was kinda all for nothing then.” Chris laughs, a hand playing with Makkachin’s fur. The dog remains asleep, unaware to the commotion beyond the consciousness, and dozes peacefully as Phichit carries on.

“It was… but at the same time it wasn’t.” He defends, dragging his cold laptop over from the bedside table where he’d last laid it to rest. There’s a message on there from Yuuko, and a bunch of emojis and capital letters. Phichit mentally translates the jumble of kanji, katakana and hiragana that she’s thrown into the mix too. He’s thankful he’d bothered to pay attention to Yuuri’s short Japanese lesson.

“But we can breathe easier now… go home… “ There’s an almost pained longing in his voice as he suggests parting ways. Phichit, whether telepathically or coincidentally, feels it too, and he bites his lip as he snaps a photo of the poodle.

“Not yet… we all still need to meet up with them once Yuri is okay.” Phichit insists, slowly pulling up Yakov’s contact. “There’s still time to hang out until the welcome home party, right? Besides, we can’t leave Makkachin yet!”

Chris laughs, a sultry, yet adorable laugh that really only Chris could pull off. He pulls the Thai skater into his side, hugging him tightly as he sighs, and hums into the thick locks of his hair. “A welcome back party? Am I invited?”

“Of course.” Phichit rolls his eyes, opening the group chat; the news must be shared with all those that were involved. “Everyone will be, it’ll be epic.”

 

* * *

 

 

Sara, Mila, Georgi and Michele had all been texted the same, rushed message from Viktor; _We found Yuri, he’s alive, he’s safe, he’s in Australia and we are on our way to get him_.

Such simple words, after so long, who knew just how much power something so small could be. There wasn’t much else to say on the matter, they could only wait, respond to Phichit’s proposal of a party, and talk amongst each other.

Sara was crying.

Michele was too.

Georgi had been sobbing since the text had come in.

Mila was laughing light-heartedly.

They were an odd group, perhaps closer now thanks to one hell of a mess, but even so it just proved that out of the bad, there was good and from the good came the strength of a family. Their prayers had been heard, their pleads had been answered, and across the globe, skaters rejoiced for their _finally,_ found friend.

 

* * *

 

 

Yuri Plisetsky shone brightly and dangerously as he moved his arms confidently. He was graceful yet destructive, and sharp with defined curves. The music played and he commanded it, all while performing in the name of ballet.

Otabek had only seen this side of Yuri once, and once would it be enough. They had been younger, and he hadn’t remembered him, but the camp for skating became something he would never forget.

Otabek was always a tall kid, always growing faster than the others in his age bracket. He wasn’t as flexible, or as beautiful, but he was athletic and knew a good tune when he heard one, so he played those parts to help him with his skating.

Yuri had been the shortest one there, standing just a head beneath that of the other kids. He was also, later he found out, the youngest, with a full three years behind the second last. How he’d been granted into such a prestigious camp, and then accepted by Yakov under his tutelage was something that crossed his mind often, but all questions had been answered the moment Yuri stepped with the notes of the piano.

The determination was striking, cold, and a little apprehensive, like he didn’t want to even _be_ there. He glared at the flats on his feet and he glared at the instructor behind him. Yuri had glared at everything and everyone around him.

Otabek had wanted to say something, anything. He’d wanted to know who ‘the boy who would glare at anything and everything’ was. They rarely crossed paths at the camp however, which was to say that they rarely met gaze to start conversation. It had eaten inside of him the longer it drew out, and even when he’d fought his way to the blonde’s side once patience had run its course, he was gone, spinning and dancing across to the barre on the opposite end of the room.

The children had made up their own theories and rumours, as children tended to do when their speculations couldn’t be confirmed. Otabek had heard ideas that his mother had left him, his father had killed her, that she’d dumped him for Yakov Feltsman and _Yuri_ was his son. Otabek didn’t really understand where the ridiculous ideas had stirred from; from what he’d heard, one of the ballet instructors teaching the seniors, was the coach’s ex-wife, and from the packed lunch and man waving Yuri goodbye from the bus stop, _that_ man seemed to be his grandfather.

Kids could be strange sometimes, and despiteful for no good reason. Otabek had extended an olive branch, in hopes that it’d appease the young dancer if he’d defend his name.

Yuri Plisetsky had a patronymic, but he’d refused to tell to the teachers.

“Ignore them.” Otabek had tried, referring to the rather obvious whispers behind as a result. He was curious too, he’d admit, as to why such a name would be so secretive. But he didn’t push, instead hoping his difference would be enough, but Yuri had ignored him, like everything else, without even the treatment of a hard glare.

As stupid as it had been, Otabek wasn’t even sure if that had been a good thing. As far as he knew, he was the only one who hadn’t received a sneer or a ‘shut the fuck up you stupid ass bitch!’. Was he therefore hated so much that he didn’t even deserve ‘standard’ treatment?

When the camp had come to its end, and everyone had raced to their parents in greeting, Otabek knew that he’d failed his mission to speak with Yuri. Not even a passing stare, or a shove, which really, he figured was rather inappropriate for a kid younger than the rest, but he felt empty all the same.

He didn’t see his parents first, instead, in the corner of his peripherals, he saw Yuri leap into an elderly man’s arms, shouting ‘ grandpa!’ like he was responsible for the stars in the sky. Otabek had meant to turn away after, his own name being called as he tightened his grip on his duffel bag. He felt defeated, but knew that the outcome had always been a possibility.

And then it happened.

And at last, their eyes met for the very first time and Otabek desperately wanted it to not be the last. He remained rooted to the ground for a minute, even after the gaze had been broken and his mother had embraced him tightly. There hadn’t been a glare, or anything otherwise noteworthy of the glance, to which Otabek was so perplexed by in turn. He didn’t see Yuri again, and he wouldn’t for years, until he’d see the same pair of turquoise eyes at the Junior Grand Prix.

Yuri 'Unknown-Patronymic' Plisetsky had the eyes of a solider, and Otabek was entranced. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please help me by pointing out any inconsistencies I may have had (I did read this chapter over more times than the others but things can sometimes slip by!)  
> Thank you for your support!
> 
> (This story isn't Beta read!)


	12. Cat and Mouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “They say something?”   
> Nope.  
> “You say something?”  
> Not it.  
> “You… do something?”  
> Zilch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well then, another chapter for another week!
> 
> Is it bad I'm a little sad that we are on the journey to the end now?
> 
> I read over some of it, in case you didn't notice, the chapters have started to decrease now in amount because we are nearing the conclusion, I did read over it though! (I still probably missed stuff)

He isn’t sure which hurts more; his chest or his heart, but either way, it’s a striking pain that throbs with every breath. His eyes screw themselves tightly shut, despite being already closed, and he groans audibly as light floods through regardless. He doesn’t know where he is, but he can feel the plushness of a sofa beneath him, and the smell of something absolutely ravishing crosses his nose.

Yuri bolts up, eyes snapping open wide and the world spinning. He reaches a hand out to steady himself and finds his body being held by _someone_ , and his first instinct is to get away. “Woah, mate, slow down.” Comes a voice, but it merely clashes with the swirling in his head.

He throws up, a lot, someone aimed perfectly into a bin held at his mouth. It doesn’t stop the room from spinning, that only happens gradually, but after another retch into the rest of his stomach’s contents, the queasiness and tightness in his chest manages to subside.

“T-the fuck?” He stumbles out, being handed a bottle of water. He doesn’t question the hospitality and merely accepts it, twisting the sealed cap before chugging half of it down. His hands tremble with the unexpected weight.

“Yuri, do you remember where you are? What happened last night? Who I am?” He cocks his head to the side to meet gaze with a slightly older man, kneeling beside him but not too close to invade his space. Yuri can smell his vomit in the trashcan and wrinkles his nose in disgust.

“Y-yeah? I think so?” He tries, blinking stupidly as he readjusts to the bright lights. The world is in much clearer focus now, but he still feels the pounding in his body. “Y-you’re the dude on top of the bar… Maaarkkk?”

“Yeah.” Mark affirms with a nod of his head. He sits back as Yuri begins to gather his strength. “I know it ain’t easy seeing as we’ve never met before but… I was pretty concerned about you, you were saying a lot of stuff… and then a lot of stuff happened…”

Yuri doesn’t want to know what drunk him did. He thinks if he finds out he’ll never be able to live it down. “F-fuck off. None of your business.” He grumbles, feeling slightly bad for abusing the generosity of the young man. Mark shakes his head, a hand held up as to prevent the blonde from leaving.

“It is my business.” He insists, and Yuri squints. “It wouldn’t perhaps, if you left and never returned last night, but you stayed, got pretty wasted, and called your parents. They’re on their way from Japan and – how on earth did you manage to run to another country?!”

Yuri freezes mid chug of his water, spraying the contents in his mouth out in surprise. Mark grimaces at the dirtied blankets, but shakes his head clear. He doesn’t want to think about cleaning up the fabric right now. That would be another problem for another time. Staring at the teen, he realises just how startled he is however. Face physically paling despite that it shouldn’t be possible considering how sick and how naturally pale the boy was already. He also sees the slight tremble in his fingers as the plastic crunches under his grip.

He momentarily worries that he’s done the wrong thing.

“Y-you aren’t in trouble, right?” He hopes, and that seems to snap him out of his stupor.

“What? The hell no!” Yuri rolls his eyes, instantly regretting it the minute he does it. “I just don’t want to see those gits!”

Mark raises an eyebrow at the lack of respect, biting his lip as he determines what he should ask next. It’s clear that Yuri doesn’t open up to people about his feelings, let alone strangers, and so gaining an explanation while his parents arrive may be harder than initially thought. He eyes the clock; only two hours until it’ll all be over, and then this moment would become nothing but a fun story to tell his friends.

“They’re worried about you.” He says slowly, gaging for a reaction. When he’s met with a stone hard glare, he knows to keep pushing. “Did you guys fight?” No reaction. Still not it. Mark was beginning to wonder how long this game of hot and cold would take.

“They say something?”

Nope.

“ _You_ say something?”

Not it.

“You… do something?”

Zilch.

Mark sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as the teen stubbornly sits there. He’s no therapist, or an emotionally supportive person – his skills are in the foundation of ‘drink to forget’, he does run a bar after all. There’s another moment of silence that passes between them, and Mark observes the boy as he continues to hold the staring match. He feels oddly exposed under the scrutiny of the kid.

The dishevelled appearance is only further accentuated rom the alcohol still exiting his system, but Mark can pick out the bits and details that were present from the night before. The red-rimmed eyes, the flushed face, congested nose, tired bags under his eyes. He could even see the uneven cuts in the boy’s oily hair, made only with the worst scissor he could imagine possible.

Yuri’s jaw is wired shut, and his teeth are visibly clenching in stress. It takes only another glance to notice that he’s barely moving his head, and so it’s obvious that he’s sporting a killer headache. Mark goes to supply him with some pain relief, but pausing to notice the shallow movements of his chest. Normal rise, slower fall. His chest is hurting too.

“Are you hurting?” He pauses to clarify, Yuri is most likely aware of his headache. “In your chest?”

_That_ got a reaction.

“Of course not.” Yuri says, snatching greedily at the tablets that are passed his way. He downs two of them, slumping back into the comfort of the cushions as he winces, grabbing his head with a mild groan. Mark eyes his torso suspiciously.

“Painkillers aren’t gonna help your chest buddy.” He says. He thinks back to the night before; Yuri had been perfectly fine moving around without any injuries to his body before, and the only explanation for anything would be the drink. Yuri’s wild eyes look at him.

“I’m aware.” He says bitterly. He doesn’t press any further.

“What’s going on—“

“I need to go.” He’s not given any more time as Yuri sits up with another groan, steadying himself on his feet as he sluggishly pulls himself upwards. He tilts to the side for a moment, and Mark reaches out to catch him should he fall, but the teen merely swats his hand away and begins to gather his jacket and stuff he sees lying beside him on the floor. He silently prays that Mark won’t try and press for more details, but it’s a fruitless attempt and he knows it.

“No, you’re not going, you’re in no state of mind to go anywhere.” Mark denies him, standing up to gently guide Yuri back to the couch. It’s pathetic, or so he thinks so, how easy it is to move him in his precarious state, but he’ll be damned if Yuuri and Viktor arrive to get him.

He doesn’t feel ready to talk to them just yet.

Or ever.

“I don’t want to see those two idiots.” Yuri snarls, weak attempts to leave following. “They aren’t even my parents!”

Mark pauses, and Yuri does too, confusion laced into his facial expression. _Ah_. _There it is._

“Let’s try again.” The bartender says slowly, lowering himself back to the ground. Yuri watches him warily as he speaks softly, like an animal with the potential to be frightened off. Then and again, Yuri _was_ like a kitten in that regards.

“I’m not doing this.” Yuri spits decisively, the harsh glare returning instantaneously.

“Yuri.” Mark snaps. He’s had enough, and this child is only going to put up a thicker wall unless he throws in a wrecking ball. So, he shatters the structure completely. “You’re scared.” The more he continues, the more he sees the distinct change in Yuri’s demeanour, fuelling the belief that only builds as he tears down. Now that he sees it, he doesn’t understand how it wasn’t obvious before.

“I’m not scared!” Yuri snaps back. “You know jack shit about anything! I don’t want to see them! I don’t like them!”

“Them?” Mark raises an eyebrow, “Or how you _feel_ around them?”

“And what? You’re basing this off of a fact that I came here wanting to get wasted?!” Yuri growls. “For all I know, you’re a creepy one of my fucked up fans.”

Mark feels a little lost at that.

“Firstly, you’d be surprised how easy it is to understand people’s motives behind drinking.” He begins, and it’s not untrue either. “Drinking doesn’t stop you’re disliking for someone, it stops you’re feeling… and bodily processes so I _have_ seen people shit themselves… but you were simply trying to avoid your feelings to the matter.”

Yuri moves to protest but doesn’t get any further. He can admit to defeat, he can admit when he’s no longer able to cover up a sob story. He feels more embarrassed than ashamed though. He merely drops the hard stare and allows his face to soften, and for once, Mark can see the youth and innocence that once was there. He doesn’t know Yuri of course, and the comment he’d made about ‘fans’ is most certainly intriguing, but he can only speculate it’s due to some high school popularity problem.

“So what if I am?” Yuri shoots back. “Tell me, oh great, wise one, what the fuck do I do then?” Yuri may be able to admit he’s got a full platter, doesn’t mean he wouldn’t take to making a mess of it.

“Well I don’t know you’re entire situation.” Mark sighs, “But I think talking to your parents— sorry, not parents, would be helpful.”

The room grows quiet again and Yuri shifts uncomfortably on the coach. “They wouldn’t get it.”

He’s surprised, he didn’t expect the sudden defeat, but Mark tries to not let it appear that way. Yuri has trusted him, he doesn’t want to let him build the walls up again. God knows that Yuuri and Viktor could use a helping hand. “They seem like they want to at least try.” Mark offers. “Last night on the phone, they sounded really worried… and in another country… like, I don’t know how you managed to escape Japan but—“

“Russia.” Yuri cuts in.

“What?” Mark frowns. “But they said…”

“Yeah, _they_ are in Japan.” Yuri begins, “I was in Russia… uh, visiting a friend in Kazakhstan actually… so not Russia… Yuuri and Viktor were on their honeymoon.”

Well, shit.

“Honeymoon?” Mark gapes, eyes wide, “I feel like I’m missing something here.”

“Well that settles that then.” Yuri rolls his eyes, snatching Mark’s phone that had been left on the coffee table. He begins thumbing through the screens, opening up an internet browser and Instagram before punching in his name. He returns the device to the questioning male in front of him. “Clearly this country is uncultured. We’re figure skaters.”

He looks at the YouTube page that is currently open and clicks play, eyes widening at the footage on display. It’s a pair skate, or so the tittle says, and in it are two men skating, one in a magenta-like suit and the other in blue. Beside the video is another, side by side comparison of a blonde performing a different routine it what was honestly too little clothing.

Mark’s eyebrows rise. _Katsuki Yuuri and Viktor Nikiforov + Yuri Plisetsky and Otabek Altin Exhibition Comparison._ The next video was that of the _Olympics_. The bartender doesn’t say anything as he opens up the Instagram tab, staring at the teen’s page. This was most certainly more than a high school popularity issue – Yuri had _millions_ of fans.

“Well I’m certainly living life wrong.” He muses, placing the phone down. It explains a bit of the personality situation too, and the whole country issue he’d been piecing together. “And you’re right… we don’t really follow skating here.”

“Well you should.” Yuri snorts, as if it were an insult to not, “Those two gits are the ones who I called yesterday night.”

Mark bites his lip as he nods, processing the information. Famous people never really were something that bothered him; after all, they were still human too. “I noticed in your Instagram you don’t post pictures with people.” Mark says, eyes lingering on the boy. He sees the bigger picture now, and only hopes he nails it on the first go. “You’re scared of connections, more importantly, the feelings you get _from_ these people.”

Yuri’s eyes widen as the thumping in his chest pick up in pace. It’s still hurting, exactly where his vital organs are, and they only threaten to burst from its cage as he mutely shakes his head in denial. “No.” He mumbles, but it’s breathy and short winded. Yuri can already picture the magazine he’d yet to touch, tucking in the recesses of his luggage.

“No?” Mark challenges, but there’s no use in even playing this game of cat and mouse anymore; even Yuri knows this. Mark may be no professional psychologist but being a bartender tended to have its own unique qualifications and skills, _including_ reading the clientele and what they would most likely need, in his case it usually being which drink to offer. “Yuri, I’d say that you don’t want to even associate with people with a strong connection, but that’s not even it… You don’t immediately cast yourself off, you linger, it’s evident in that video at the end when you’re with them sitting at the score thing… “

There’s a point, a final blow, and Yuri can feel the tears brimming in his eyes. It’s stupid, he doesn’t want to cry, he just wants to get away— “Why are you scared?”

And the final wall fell.

 

* * *

 

 

Otabek doesn’t think he’s ever seen so many tears from a single person before, in fact, he reckons, were the situation different, he could have filled a bottle with the salt water. It’s a disturbing thought for such a sensitive moment – He thinks it’s a coping mechanism.

Well, no one said it had to be a _good_ one.

The airport is bustling with thousands of people, the crowd far louder than it had been in Japan. He wonders why there aren’t any other airports in this area, why there’s only one that forces everyone to combine into mass waves of movement. He’s hardly tall enough to see above others, having to stand on his tiptoes to peer above the crowd. Otabek had never fussed about height before, but now he sort of wishes he were Viktor, hell, even Yuuri.

“The exit is at the end, I guess we follow the crowd.” Viktor mumbles loudly, a protective arm around his husband. Yuuri merely shrugs, gasping for rasped breaths as people press against each other. They can see the final check point a little way away; thankfully it’s more open than the bag drop.

They huddle together quickly, Otabek coming around Yuuri’s other side to cover him. He isn’t sure if his presence does much else, but hopes so at least. Yuuri whimpers and says nothing more, following.

“It’s alright, we’re almost there.” Viktor whispers into his hair, placing a kiss on the crown of his head. Otabek can feel the slight transformation from tense, to slightly less, and feels himself relax slightly at the lessening of Yuuri’s tears. Crowds really weren’t doing him any favours.

“I-I know, I’ll be okay.” Yuuri mumbles, mouth hidden behind the face mask. It didn’t serve any other purpose besides offering some form of security to hide behind, and Viktor merely rubs his arm in comfort. “W-we’re almost at check out.”

The shuffling gradually begins to pick up in pace, and soon there’s more room to breathe. The middle of the walkway is occupied with travelators, packed to the brim with people and too many suitcases. It’s a good thing, meaning the sides are practically vacant, and so the three speed walk down the aisle with their target in sight.

“Single file please!” A security member speaks up, and the sudden crowd is instantly divided into the many rows and lines of red and black tapes.  It’s like a maze, somehow coordinated and constructed, with people flowing quickly through. It surprises Otabek at how fast the security checks are, and soon enough he gets an answer to his impending wondering. Before them are columns of gates, flashing green or red and beeping loudly. It’s the perfect scenario to rile Yuuri up, and it does so as he eyes the industrial set up before them.

“One per gate please.” A woman says kindly, and Viktor can see the hesitation as she sees Yuuri’s state. It isn’t pretty, and Otabek wonders if anything can even be done, so he waits with them as the lady gently speaks with Viktor to figure out what’s going on. “That’s alright, you two can go to a manual check, right down there.” She eventually points towards the familiar identification check, a man sitting patiently in a booth at a computer. “Could you still go through these ones?” She turns to Otabek, waving a hand to the gate.

Yuuri mumbles something and Viktor pats him gently, Otabek offering a soft smile at the Japanese. “I’ll be alright, see you guys on the other side.” He nods, and watches as Viktor pulls a hesitant Yuuri away.

The machine asks for his passport and he feeds it through, photo scanning as he steps into the weird small area with a camera. There’s a green light, and a mark for where to stand, and so he waits as the computer registers his face. An automated voice soon accepts him and lets him pass, spitting his passport out through the other side. The whole experience takes less than 2 minutes and he has to wonder just how advanced technology has become.

There’s only a few people at the arrivals terminal, much to their delight, and by the time they’ve reached the automatic sliding doors, Yuuri is no longer shrouding into Viktor’s shoulder. His eyes are wide, staring around the car park as Viktor hails for a taxi. Admittedly the space doesn’t look much too special, but to be fair they haven’t really been here before.

As they pile into the car, now pulled up and loading their luggage, which Yuuri is sure they under packed in their frenzy, Viktor looks out the window to his right, a hand squeezing his husband’s as they shuffle in the back seats. If the cabbie thought anything, it went unsaid, and so the three of them remained close as the scenery changed.

Whatever Otabek had expected, it certainly wasn’t this; with the skyline fading into the bustling city, the desert like country showed barely a hint of such environment. It was warm, or perhaps he was still warming up, but the temperatures were most certainly higher than they ever would be in Kazakhstan. The car drives them deeper into the city, where the traffic slows and the crowds thicken. Otabek doesn’t know much about where Yuri has been hiding, but they’d all agreed that they’d need to drop off their stuff before venturing into the foreign country more.

“Mark hasn’t responded to my message.” Viktor frowns, swiping at his phone. Sure enough, there’s a message telling him they’d touched down not too long ago and were on their way to their hotel. It hadn’t been read or responded to, left simply as it was. “You reckon something happened?”

“Oh don’t say that.” Yuuri practically begged, screwing up his eyes as he frowned. No one wanted to think the worst, especially when they’d come so far and so close. Like dread, his heart thumps in his chest and he sighs heavily in hopes of relieving it. It doesn’t, much as he’d expected, and so Otabek fiddles with his phone in his pocket, beside the one that belongs to his friend.

_Were they even friends_?

He wants to hope so, he desperately wants to fix things. He knows he’s messed up big time, there’s no point in even going over that one again and again in his head. And yet, he feels all the more responsible, and terrible, and every bad thing in the world. Really, he just wants to make things right, wants to help, but he almost doesn’t know how. Hell, he’s not even sure yet if his presence is anything more than a hindrance despite the claims otherwise.

Huh, so that’s how Yuuri felt.

Viktor doesn’t waste any time to help unload the car, hastily paying the cab fee as he goes. Yuuri doesn’t even comment on the ridiculous price, despite clearly calculating the worth of exactly one Australian dollar into both Russian Rubbles and Japanese Yen. Curiosity ties out and Otabek pulls out his phone to see. Yikes. That’s a hefty amount of money.

“Come on my Yuuri, you too Otabek.” Viktor tugs at the suitcases, an arm snaking around Yuuri’s waste protectively. He’s already off down the front lobby with two suitcases in one hand, leaving Otabek to gather the last one. It’s quite the impressive feat, to balance a person and two bags, but Otabek supposes it’s something like the ‘power of love’ that propels him to accomplish such things. Love or adrenaline, either one.

There’s a person at the desk who’s immersed in a hurried conversation with Viktor, taking notes and waving Otabek over with a flourish. Yuuri is still at the Russian’s side, nodding and interacting minimally as he nears, watching more so in preference. A bellboy arrives with a luggage carrier, and they’re handed their hotel key cards quickly. Two rooms, one for Yuuri and Viktor and the other for Otabek and eventually Yuri should he decide to stay with him. Otabek doesn’t count on that detail so much.

“They’ll take the stuff up for us, we can head out now.” Viktor nods in explanation, another kiss pressed to Yuuri’s head. “We aren’t that far, it’s a bar on Oxford Street, apparently that’s the resident gay town.”

“Resident gay town.” Otabek repeats, head cocked in question. It doesn’t make much sense to him but he supposes that he’d find out eventually.

“Loads of pride marches, gay bars, LGBT clubs.” The receptionist cuts in with a smile, “There’s a couple routes that takes you directly there if that’s where you’re headed.” She hands him a tour guide map and a few leaflets on transportation, bidding them good luck as they turn to leave. Otabek folds both up and pockets them in his jacket, unsure if they’ll be used, but good for future reference.

“We’re almost there.” Yuuri finally says, it’s the first thing that could be classified as actual words and not some mumbled phrase. He lifts his head up from Viktor’s shoulder and slips the face mask off before tossing it into his palm, scrunching it up as he pockets it carelessly. “Yuri is here, we need to go _now_.”

With a new found urgency, Viktor finds himself being dragged by the hand with Otabek in Yuuri’s other. Like dead weights, they follow, and like a compass, Yuuri leads. He isn’t too sure how he knows where to go, perhaps a parental instinct? But they eventually meet ends at an intersection, with a bold sign reading “Oxford Street” to their left.

“It’s on the left.” Yuuri explains, pressing the pedestrian’s light button feverishly. He taps it again, and again, as if to make the lights change faster. But they don’t, so they wait, and they listen. It’s agonising to wait so long, every second slipping by with waste. Then finally, there’s a shrill pulse from the button, indicating the time to walk was now, so the three of them race across the road, uncaring to the perplexed waiting cars, and continue onwards.

 

* * *

 

 

Yuri doesn’t believe in telepathy, or magic, or fate – yet somehow his heart explodes, tears itself from his chest and _screams_. There’s a pressure that builds within his head. And it’s only accumulating the longer he remains still; his feet and legs have filled with tingly pins and needles, the kind that turn your legs to jelly when you try to walk.

He shudders as he stands, knees buckles and face twisting into mortified tension. His legs don’t feel good, he doesn’t like this type of pins and needs – he’d rather the _actual_ prickly kind where it feels like you’re stepping on gravel with your entire foot.

He grits his teeth and balances on the couch arm. He doesn’t have much time to get moving if he wants to leave, he can somehow _sense_ his time running out, his heart beating like a ticking time bomb. Yuri is thankful that Mark had to momentarily leave for the bathroom, Yuri is thankful the bartender is only human. Yuri is rather thankful that he’s able to push past the tingly sensations and somehow _stand_.

They’re on the top floor of the building, which is only two in and of itself, but he can _hear_ the sounds of hurried squeaks from down below and he can practically _feel_ the words pressing into his skin. He hasn’t much time, as his heart loves to remind him, and so Yuri lifts a foot, more tingles, and steps, _more_ tingles, and runs.

He hasn’t explored the remainder of the house, he’s thankful the headache and the nausea had died not to long after he’d taken the painkillers Mark had offered him. He almost feels bad for the sudden departure, not even caring for his own personal belongings that he’d leave. Of all things, the chest pain still hadn’t gone and if anything, it had begun to grow stronger.

Yuri wonders momentarily if he maybe has some rare heart condition from his family history, which was entirely plausible, he hadn’t really known anyone he was biologically related too. He’s suddenly thankful that he doesn’t know them – he doesn’t really want to know his medical history anyway.

Yuri sure was thankful today.

Slowly, he stumbles towards the bedroom, the furthest away from the bathroom and sneaks inside, cringing at the creaky door on its hinges. It doesn’t matter though, Mark couldn’t hear him from where he was, and so without a care for the invasion of privacy, Yuri ventures into the bedroom in search for a way out.

His face relaxes with relief as he eyes the glass doors, leading out to a small balcony that over looked the city. He rushes to it, feet regaining their sense of touch, and he presses his hands against the glass to peer outside best he can. There’s a simple latch on the slide door, which falls away as he flicks it upwards. There’s a pause as he grips the handle, pulling it towards him, and then warm air, a little too warm for his preference, filling the room.

Yuri peers over the edge, eyeing the deserted grass area below him. It isn’t too high of a jump, and he’s used to landing on his feet; whether be from skating or his cat-like qualities and so he swings his legs over the brick wall edge, a hand readily grabbing one of the pipes barred to the wall. The grass looks welcoming, the small concrete footpath a little way’s off does not, and so he hesitates, biting his lip as he feels his heart scream in reminder.

Right.

There’s a shout from within the apartment, Yuri can recognise Yuuri’s frantic sobbing and Viktor’s hyper questioning. He hears Mark’s surprisingly panicked voice as they scavenge the apartment. That did it, he’s jumping.

He pushes off the wall and feels his body turn towards his left, clinging to the wall where he’d gripped the pipe. Feet pressed against the hard surface, covered in nothing but socks – he regrets not grabbing his shoes, he kicks off, flying backwards the remaining half of the way.

The grass is most certainly not as plush as it looks.

He hisses as his feet land, knees bending as he tries to disperse the impact like in skating. The only problem is his launch, and he distantly remembers the rule for jumps; _the way you take off determines your landing_ and most certainly didn’t jump right _._ He slips backwards, tailbone meeting the unfortunate concrete and shooting a tingly spike of pain up his body. He hisses, slowly standing and flexing his torso, experimenting with which limbs worked and what hurt like hell.

Bruised perhaps, but okay.

His heart leaps into his stomach as he brushes the grass blood on his knees, effectively staining his skin further with blemishes. He turns on his spot and throws up. The complimentary breakfast, the water, the little alcohol that had been too stubborn to leave the first time, splattering onto a mix on the grass and footpath in a gruel mess.

Yuri groans, spitting into the grass to try and rid himself of the taste. It does very little though, and soon he feels sick again.

“Yuri.” His name whispers, carried through the air and delivered sweetly to his ear.

He freezes.

He freezes.

They both freeze.

Yuri blinks wildly, head towards the ground as he listens. There’s no mistaking who’s staring down at him from the balcony, there’s only one person whose voice could be so calm and collected in a time like this. There was only one person that could possibly shock Yuri to his core—

“Altin.”

He doesn’t dare say his first name, tilting head up to meet his gaze. The heart in his body is bashing against him again, almost shoving him to go back. Yuri swallows, eyes narrowed into his signature appearance but he’s sure he looks terrible based off of the other’s wild expression.

He sort of forgets almost, for a small moment, what had transpired between them, but the harsh reality kicks in when there are more shouts from within and Otabek turns to shout back, most likely exposing Yuri’s location.

He knows very well that Otabek could follow him, jumping over the balcony and catch up. He knows this because Otabek is rather well off in jumps, and he’s taller and faster than him. Yuri doesn’t consider this as he turn on his heel and runs, feeling the stabbing of stones and sticks and dirt beneath his sock-clad feet.

“Yuri! Wait!” He hears Otabek’s voice once again, but it doesn’t matter, Yuri had already taken off across the busy street, praying to god that cars didn’t hit him on the way. Tires screeching and cars honking with their drivers yelling profanities follow him as he goes. His feet slap against the pavement, stinging the soles with a burn.

He doesn’t stop.

Yuri didn’t believe in god, or magic, or fate, but in that moment, he was thankful for every single deity and entity known to man for keeping him alive.

He was rather thankful today.

 

* * *

 

 

The video does the silver haired man no justice in demonstrating his true beauty. Really, that video Yuri had shown him is deceptive in the most not okay ways. Mark’s mouth opens agape as Viktor waves, bright smile matching his _dazzling_ bright, blue eyes. His gaydar _pings_ like a teenager girl’s lust, and it takes him a little to realise his brain has lagged behind. Behind him is Yuuri, the most adorable person he’s ever seen, as his heart swoons for the fact that they’re together.

He wonders briefly how Viktor is able to smile with such strain, but then he sees the crack in the façade and realisation dawns on him that this man has been automatically appointed the ‘glue’ in the trio’s bond for the time being. Otabek remains reserved, taking a seat on the couch quietly as the couple follow.

“I… I’m so sorry.” He blurts out. There’s not much else he can say really. He feels terrible, truly terrible. After all, Yuri was literally just _there_. Otabek had _seen_ him, and he’d gotten away just as quickly as he’d arrived.

“It’s not your fault.” The Kazakh speaks up, empty eyes turning towards him. They’re heavy, filled with what Mark can only describe as a depressed aura, and he thinks he would be too were their roles reversed. “We’re thankful you looked after him.”

Viktor nods, this time a little more solemnly than his previous expression, and Yuuri gives a shaky breath beside him. “If I may ask…” Mark slices into the silence hesitantly. He doesn’t want to pry but it’s been bothering him ever since Otabek had called out to them from the balcony. “Why has Yuri been running away?” He remembers his speculations and conversation with the blonde, almost praying that it wasn’t something he’d said. He knows that boundaries had been pushed during their conversation, he is almost certain he knows the feelings Yuri wishes to supress. For the life of him, he just can’t figure out _why_.

It’s Yuuri, surprisingly, who decides to answer the question, tilting his head away from the security of Viktor as he bites his lip, contemplating which words he should use. “I’ve been thinking about it actually.” He turns to Otabek with a sympathetic look. “A person doesn’t just run away when their friend confesses, and especially not Yuri. All this, all the running is from something much bigger… I just—I wish I knew _what._ ”

The new information swirls around Mark’s head until it settles. Like when you kick at a clear water’s surface and the sand on the bottom rises, clouding its perfection, only to settle once more where it was. He didn’t know that Yuri had been running from a confession of a friend, not only painful on his behalf but Otabek’s, if he guessed correctly, feelings too. “He said some stuff to me actually.” He decides to admit, three pairs of eyes landing on him immediately. “I mean— I don’t know if it was something I said that made him run this time… god I hope not but… we did chat a bit about why he was here. I mean, no kid just up and leaves a country yeah?”

“What did he say?” Viktor frowns, a hand absentmindedly running circles into Yuuri’s side. The affection is worth the jealousy of wanting the same, but now isn’t the time for such thoughts.

“Well, it’s more what he didn’t say. He’s terrified though, that much is certain. Terrified of feeling and decided drinking would work.” He sighs, scratching the back of his head. “I’m guessing you guys were the ones who froze his bank account? Well, aside from that, he seemed pretty distressed at the mentioning of your uh, familial ties, yeah, refused to associate with them and I guess from there his body language was easy enough to read.”

He doesn’t know if his information provides any insight to the situation, it’s not as if he knows Yuri as well as the three in front of him do. He sort of wishes he could do more.

“I’m getting the feeling that he’s really not coping with emotions as well as I thought he was.” Otabek mutters. “Or… maybe it’s just so many things overwhelming him at once?” Otabek sighs, rubbing his face with his hands tiredly, as if to keep him awake longer. The three of them look like emotional train wrecks themselves, hair splatters, eyes blown wide – they each sport a pair of brilliantly purple bags under their eyes.

“We’ll need to find him then.” Viktor suddenly decides, clapping his hands definitively. “Yuri is gonna have to talk to us, I really, _really_ , don’t know what else to do…”

“And how do we find him?” Otabek challenges, blank face staring. It’s clear, based off of Viktor and Yuuri’s raised eyebrows that Otabek doesn’t speak out of turn often. Mark feels oddly estrange, like a fourth wheel, if that were even possible.

“Find my phone?” Mark suggests hopefully.

“I have it.” Otabek grimaces, pulling said device from his pocket. The thing is off, clearly out of charge with a large crack staining the front. It looks as if it’s been thrown into a wall one too many times, and after meeting Yuri, Mark wouldn’t doubt that was probably the case.

“I-I can’t keep doing this!” Yuuri wails desperately. The Japanese man only sobs harder into Viktor’s shoulder, and it takes all that he can muster to not break down in front of the other two as well. Mark is unsure as for what to do. Sure, people come all the time with woes and queries that they hope his small bar can resolve, which they didn’t, but the only thing he could ever give were the alcohol he was licenced for and the advice he’d gained with the job. Usually, in a time like this he’d offer a drink to the fretting man, but that didn’t seem like the best situation in that moment of time all things considering.

Mark offers the silver haired man a glass instead. Russians were generally better at holding their liquor…right? He doesn’t really want to hold out on stereotypes though, he is already well aware of what Yuri’s drunken experience had been like.

He’s thankful his bar isn’t open today.

Thankfully Viktor skulls the drink without question, not even flinching as the liquid chased down his throat. Go figure.

“You?” he offers the other, Otabek. He can’t exactly read the young man as easily, with his monotone face that he’s sure is almost always a constant. How he was so relaxed physically was a miracle Mark doesn’t think he’ll ever get an answer for. He pulls out a second glass, placing it within the Kazak’s reach.

“No… I’m… I’m good. I’m only 20 anyway.” Otabek rejects, a firm shaking of his head and wave of his hand. His voice is uneven and delicate, on the edge of breaking like a glass on a string. The fact that he was able to focus much more than the other two was amazing, and the bar owner almost wished that all his distressed customers could be as level headed as he.

“18’s our limit here mate.” He insists, but he isn’t sure as to why he’s bothering. Less liquor meant less clean up and more for him. He’s certain he’ll be drinking tonight.

It takes a second of contemplation before the glass is personally refilled. “Yura would be pissed – he turns 18 next year… I suppose he already had some though huh?” It’s an attempt at a more positive approach at conversation, one that only they would be participating in. Yuuri’s sobs have become distant background noises as Viktor’s sniffling becomes apparent. They’re quietly talking to each other, consoling each other and Mark knows it’s best to offer a tissue and leave them be.

The next problem was rather obvious; they weren’t sure as to where they could go next. Without a new trail, Yuri could have gone anywhere by foot and chasing after him was simply ludicrous. They know he has a little money on him; the transaction before the account had been halted could clue them in on that enough. Not enough to go insanely far, but enough to make a quick getaway for sure.

Otabek almost wished he’d followed into the busy traffic.

“We could call the cops.” Mark suddenly suggests, “If you explain the scenario they’ll help.”

There’s an apprehensive silence as Viktor stares at him, lip bitten as he processes the proposition. “Would they? Russia’s police were absolutely useless… I don’t want to draw attention to something that’s not going to help.”

Mark doesn’t know much about Russia, its politics, government or police, he has only ever heard bias opinions or twisted truths. He thinks he can believe some of them now if a Russian citizen is calling his own motherland out.

“I have a friend at the local station who could help and I can call her ahead of time if you like. Regardless of if it were her or not though, they’d help.” He says this with such conviction it’s hard to not find a flaw in the suggestion, and so Yuuri braves the idea.

“We’ll go.” He nods frantically, nose sniffling as a wipes the tears from his reddened cheeks. “U-uhm, thank you. Thank you so much Mark. Your help really means… the world to me— us. If there’s any way we can make it up to you then please let us know.”

“No need, I’m just glad I can help.” Mark smiles lightly. These people really are the world’s best parents. “I’ll call Naimh and let her know.” He pulls out his wallet and digs around the card slot, producing a business card in blue. On it are her name and credentials, printed in large blocky letters.

He hands it to Viktor who raises an eyebrow, concentrating on the small piece of paper. “Nay/meh?” He tries, furrowing in concentration. Yuuri points at smaller lettering beneath her name.

“There’s a phonetic pronunciation and you just heard him say it. ‘Knee/v’... I’m guessing Irish?” He turns questioningly towards Mark who nods. “Are you sure she’ll be able to help?”

“Absolutely.” Mark affirms, rising to stand. The room begins to develop that feeling where departure was soon to arrive, and soon the three other adults are all gathered around the front door. There’s a small pause as Mark fiddles with the door that leads down the stairs and out of the residence exit, but he hesitates when he eyes the bag by the shoe rack. “Oh, Yuri’s stuff. He arrived with his suitcase last night so I’m guessing you’ll want to take it with you?” He makes a move to wheel the single leopard print suitcase across the floor, depositing it into Otabek’s hand.

“That boy…” Yuuri scolds like a parental figure, reminding anyone of their own mother and father. There’s no doubting the familial ties, whether Yuri himself denies it or not. It was clear that these people cared for him a great deal.

“Thank you again.” Viktor smiles, this time a more complete and at peace expression. Mark nods and shakes his hand, pushing the door open wider as Otabek offers his a singular nod. He nods back, patting Yuuri on the back as he walks through. His husband and Yuri’s friend eventually follow after, and Mark watches them descend the small flight of stairs as he waves.

“Good luck you guys!” He calls out before sighing. He has good faith that Yuri will be found, after all, there aren’t many place a kid looking as he did _could_ go. It was only a matter of time he thinks before they can reunite and sort it out. As for him though, Mark’s job is done, he’s done all he can without being invasive and appreciates the small adventure for what it was.

He retreats into his home as the door clicks closed behind him, swiping up the used glasses as he would for his own business. His experiences and skill have been enough, offering advice, a safe place and a means to go on; the rest is up to them.

 

* * *

 

 

Phichit sighs as Makkachin trots over, a paw resting on his knee as the dog pads at his pants. The poodle was adorable, that much was obvious, and it reminds the Thai man of the puppy that Yuuri once owned back in Detroit. Of course, he’d never actually seen Vicchan in person; the pictures had to make do, but he could sense the close bond both pet and owner had.

Chris had taken to a shower, not before obviously teasing and flirting with the Thai man into an invitation he eventually declined. So while it was him and the dog and the rather empty home, Phichit had begun fiddling with his phone as he usually did.

A couple selfies with a now sleeping Makkachin had been overseen, Phichit choosing to forgo a filter and simply send the daily update to her owners. The photo sent rather quickly, a relief really considering how long it actually could take photos to send through.

He’s surprised when the delivery receipt flicks to a ‘read’ however, and his eyes widen with delight as he eyes Yuuri typing in the bottom left hand of the screen.

_‘Awww sleepy baby!’_ Reads the reply, and although it’s not out of the ordinary, it does seem to feel lacklustre.

‘ _How’s land down under?’_ He decides to respond with. Yuuri and Viktor had already been made aware of his decision to host a small welcome back party, and had even gotten a preview of the rough itinerary.

‘ _Stressful_.’ Is the one word reply he received, followed by what feels like an eternity of watching the three little dots dance as he types. Three times it pauses, and three times it starts again, finally disappearing and replacing with an actual text before Phichit even had the chance to question the message his friend had been struggling to type out. ‘ _Sorry, at hospital – Yuri is okay, we found him.’_

Phichit audibly gasps.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Chris’ voice calls out, following his appearance as he enters the living room. His hair drips softly down his neck, clearly not dried properly as he adjusts the towel around his waist. On any other occasion, Phichit may have flushed red, but now he is far to invested in his testing to pay any attention to the Swiss’ outfit or lack thereof.

“Yuuri, Viktor and Otabek are at a hospital.” He suddenly announces, shaking his head almost in disbelief.

“What? Are you serious? Are they okay?” Chris moves to join the other at his side.

“Yeah, they are.” Phichit slowly reveals, silencing himself in concentration as he responds to whatever Yuuri had next said. “Apparently… okay...” Another pause.

“Okay?” Chris questions, eyebrow raised. “What’s going on?”

Phichit shakes his head, releasing a heavy breath as he sighs. His fingers, somehow, increase in speed, tapping and rewording questions and answers. The only sound that either can hear for a good minute or so is the electronic keyboard clacks and the occasional send and receive notifications from the two communicating.

“Okay… alright, everything is okay.” Phichit slumps back, head hitting the back of the couch. He presses his phone to his chest after turning it off, stilling for a moment as he blinks at the ceiling. “So apparently they found him.”

“Mhmm?” Chris hums, as if to prompt him to continue.

“And he ran off… again.” Phichit says. “And then they went to the police… who helped to track him down rather quickly apparently, only 2 hours… but Yuri was dehydrated… or something to do with heatstroke… Yuuri didn’t really understand but they had to take him in for a little to pump his vital signs back up.”

“So… He’s alright?” Chris asks slowly, unsure.

“Yes.” Phichit turns, eyes bright as he smiles. There’s relief in his expression as he grins. “Yuri Plisetsky is alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah poor Yuri, Yuuri, Viktor and Otabek. I think this would appear OOC if it weren't for the given fact that this is something stressful that has taken a toll on their stability.
> 
> As for Yuri in hospital? Well he's neglected his health for a bit already, was drunk and then over exerted himself so it's safe to say that it isn't a bad idea to get a check up and find some minor complications. Also i think I butchered Otabek's age here, for the sake of that I'm just gonna go with it and chose to turn a blind eye.
> 
> Can't wait for next chapter!
> 
> (This story isn't beta read!)


	13. Play Pretend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Jesus Christ!” Yuri snaps. He isn’t religious but even saying that makes him feel as though he should apologise. Don’t say the lord’s name in vain or something along those lines. He should also stop while he’s ahead, but unfortunately the smart part of Yuri isn’t active, and instead he chooses to leap without looking. “Is that all you can say?” He continues, or at least tries to with his squabbled voice, “I’m not a fucking child! Leave me the hell alone, I didn’t ask you to play ’family’! Is that what you want? With little plastic cups and tea? And a doll house? I’m not you’re fucking kid and you and your stupid husband aren’t my family!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Yuri has been found! Finally! It only took so long for that to happen ahah.  
> The drama isn't done yet though - there's still the road of recovery and explanation to look forward to but alas, the worrying can be done with.

Yuri Plisetsky is _not_ alright.

He’s panting, rather raggedly for someone who’s a professional figure skater, air heaving in and out of his chest like each is his dying breath. He can feel the twisted pain of a stitch in his side too, stabbing him harshly as he doubles over. As he releases a desperate cry, he feels his head spin, the blood pumping into his ears methodically. He can practically _hear_ his heartbeat, and if the odd tightness in his chest from before was bad, he thinks this is way worse.

His knees buckle beneath him, either from over exertion or that rather foolish jump, and his feet absolutely burn through the holes he’d incidentally torn into the thin socks he wear. He’s sure he stubbed his toes on the pavement too, almost apprehensive to check with the small tingling and stings of cuts cluing him in to the damage.

With a groan, he allows himself to sit on the floor, hissing from the ghost of a bruise at his tailbone. The ground is hot, no surprise there, especially since he’d managed to find his way to a carpark in the middle of who knew where. He doesn’t know how far he is from the bar, he’d been keeping up a jog for the better half of an hour, a true testimony to his daily training regimen.

Of course, sparing the cash he’d been at least smart enough to take with him was out of the question; that’d leave a trail. He’s brain fuzzes with that thought, and the heat; since when was he on the run?

He tries to laugh, finds he can’t and instead groans. He mouth feels all weird and clammy, somehow also dry. He supposes it isn’t terribly hot, like it had been the other days, and he’s awfully grateful; it was still a nuisance though, especially for someone recovering from a hangover.

Yuri eyes some shade at the back of the parking lot, propped beneath the protection of a brick wall. It makes up a part of the convenient store the area is designated for, one chain from the same branch he’d visited along his journey there. He needed water after all, but that had since run out and he has almost no energy to even try getting some more. Slowly, he inches his way to the small sanctuary, crawling with what he’s sure is the last of his energy. Sighing in relief as he slumps against the cool brick, his vision tilts, shakes and then duplicates.

Well shit, he’s definitely dying, no matter how dramatic he’s making it out to be. If he’s dying, or at least claiming so, he’ll at least go out with more flare than Viktor ever had.

If anyone manages to find him in time, he’d consider it a miracle, but as it is, he isn’t sure how likely that’d be aside from the singular person working inside the store. To be fair, if you told him at the end of the Grand Prix finals that he’d be in a desert-like country, living his final moments in the corner of a carpark within the next few weeks, he’d have laughed and called you insane. He’s also sure that Viktor and Yuuri would have too – as if they’d let anything like that happen to him.

Well, as ironic as it was, he’s here now, wasn’t he? And he still isn’t even sure why he’s so desperate to get away, enough to sabotage his health; perhaps it was the mentality of already going so far, why stop now? Perhaps he was just stubborn… or ashamed? Why is he scared? He knows that one, there’s no questioning that anymore. It’s connected to that lunging pain he keeps getting and only wants to be rid of. Trying to figure out the events that lead him here were almost impossible too, especially while the stupid pins and needles flood his arms and legs again. Yuri feels like a little lost thing, a petulant child – as much as he’d hate to admit – alone, in pain, and _oh—_ swimming in black…

 

* * *

 

 

“Children go missing all the time.” Niamh frowns, arms crossed as she kicks her feet off of her desk. She stares at the three individuals in front of her, the ones she’d been forewarned of merely 20 minutes ago, and from the story they begin telling her, her dear bartender friend was apparently not kidding. “For a what? 16? 17 year old? To have actually escaped Kazakhstan – which mind you, had no idea was a place until you told me – And then seek refuge here? I’m impressed.”

The one closest to her, Yuuri, she recalls him introducing himself as, bites his lip, what was once an old sore now splitting open afresh. She can tell he’s an anxious guy, fingers fiddling with, what she notices, a ring; so he’s married. She eyes the matching pair on Viktor, the silver haired guy, and beside them is clearly the missing teenager’s friend, Otabek.

They’re clearly very confused, unsure what to do and in desperate need of help, so she nods, standing, logging her private terminal off and pushes her chair in with her hip. “Are you able to help us?” Yuuri slowly hesitates.

“Well, yeah.” Niamh nods, swiping her badge, her gun and her phone. The Japanese man appears apprehensive to the offending weapon until it is stashed away inside a locked drawer. They won’t be needing it where they’re headed, if they’re headed anywhere at all. “I just need to tell the Captain we’re heading out, he’s a good guy, he won’t make me file this case considering it’s just a search party… that is unless things become… messy, which I doubt, so let’s just keep positive and get going yeah?”

“Yeah.” Otabek agrees, using his voice for the first time since they’d been brought to her. She smiles kindly at him, reassurance radiating from the gentle smile, before she excuses herself and makes her way to the boss’ office. She was, after all, one of the best.

“This is it.” Viktor breathes out, turning to face his husband and friend. They’re getting professional help, something that was bound to produce results, however all he can think of is the worrisome expression plastered to Yuuri’s features. It doesn’t take a genius to work out what he’s thinking. “My Yuuri, it’s going to be okay. He’ll be okay, there won’t be anything messy, or concerning, we’ll find him, take him home and talk.”

Talking. Yuuri likes talking, despite the ironic social anxiety he often endured. Talking usually meant an explanation to a long awaited answer, or clarification in times of uncertainty. He doesn’t care much for the fun, social aspect of talking right now, all he can focus on is _finally_ understanding what’s wrong.

Niamh returns only five minutes later, a slight jog as she reaches them. Her arms slip through a hoodie she’s wearing, not a uniform like the other officers seeing as she’s a detective, and then she’s beckoning them to follow her, leading them to another desk where there’s another computer. The terminal is activated and she logs in, drawing up a map of the general vicinity. “We can predict his route from the direction he’s taken, and whole bunch of math and yadda yadda.” She says, circling a point. It’s the bar on Oxford St, and beside it she pulls up a list of bus timetable routes.

“So he could be anywhere.” Yuuri summaries, eyes wide at the list. There are at least four different routes that cover the city, each in opposite directions.

“Not exactly.” Niamh replies, highlighting two routes. “We can gain access to CCTV footage, see if he got on, if not then he went by foot… which will be harder to track.”

“But… not impossible?”

There’s a heavy pause. “Look, there’s a reality to this situation.” The detective scratches at the back of her head sheepishly. She doesn’t want to give cause to a massive panic, but she doesn’t want to provide them with false hope. “The reality is, in a usual case, a missing person’s report doesn’t get filed out until they haven’t been heard of for over 24 hours. Even then, it’s rather hard to find someone who doesn’t typically want to be found. I’ve managed to cut the queue a little here considering this is an international matter and a favour of a friend, but my contacts assisting me with sightings aren’t miracles; they can only do so much too.”

Viktor hugs his husband closely, an instinctive reaction to the prediction of his troubled state. Niamh wants to desperately help them, she knows that she could if given more time, but the desperation and worry from the group beside her are only slowing her progress. Because sadly, despite being about to leave on foot, it turns out that the catchment area is bigger than she had initially predicted. Maths wasn’t her strong point clearly. “How about you guys go to your hotel and wait –“

“No thanks.” Otabek interjects, voice laced with what she could swear was emotion. “Could we wait here? We want to be as close as possible… if that’s okay.” She nods, because she really can’t say much else to a distressed family except offering them a seat in the corner of the precinct besides the breakroom. She watches them collapse into the seats available, sighing as their voices turn into a hushed manner, a couple officers offering consoling words as they pass.

Now, back to work.

Essentially, should Yuuri, Viktor and Otabek have seen what the detective had been working on, they’d have realised that it’d been a similar method to their own. A list, more cross referencing, and a few phone calls, before crossing things off of the list. Bus depos, local stores, street CCTV cameras. She holds her breath as she eyes a flash of a person running across the corner of a convenient store, but there’s hardly enough evidence to suggest it’s the person she’s on the look for.

Niamh sighs as she pulls up the kid’s Instagram, identifying the images to see what his appearance looks like. There’s no reference of his presence on social media either – IT already scanning the web for any mentions. For someone rather famous, he’s surprisingly good at not being found.

Then and again, she _was_ a homicide detective, and locating, when you or a body shouldn’t be found, _was_ part of her job description. She supposes the only difference here is that this body is very much alive. She hopes.

A sigh escapes her lips as she leans back in her chair, an email coming through as she sits. In the corner of her eye she has a straight view of the three men, and she watches them for a bit before deciding to continue. The email is one from her friend down in IT, and with a knowing smile, she double clicks the link open.

Four images and two videos, each acquired from footage taken not nearly an hour ago. The images are a lot clearer than the brief flash from before, and she hits the space bar in order to hastily pause. A street camera, probably a twenty minute drive from where they currently were, suggesting the direction that Yuri had gone in. The final image takes him around a corner, and then through to another street, and there’s only the slightest image of a corner store’s door opening before closing.

The final video is that of the convenient store, spanning the numerous cameras stashed within the room. Niamh can clearly identify Yuri, his thin frame entering the store before he moves purposefully towards the back. She frowns as the store manager attempts to decline him service, and it’s clear that his state of dress would give a terrible impression, but the guy gives in when Yuri brandishes what appears to be money, and then he leaves by the video’s end.

She draws up a clearer image of Yuri, comparing it with the photos she had for a side by side comparison before pinning the convenient store’s location on her map that was tracking his route. The video definitely features him; regardless of how bad the visual quality was, Niamh could make out the facial structure and bright eyes even among the few pixels. She frowns at the unmatching, choppy, blonde hair which isn’t in his latest photos as much as it is his younger, so she assumes it’s a new development, much as the slight limp.

There’s a hesitance as she decides whether or not to update the trio on the progress, considering she had only received this small task but an hour ago already shows promising signs. Never has someone been so easily found; then and again she was usually hunting down murderers, not scared children.

Did she understand _why_ Yuri had been running? Well, it was also a part of her job to kind of determine that, was it not? Defining Yuri’s MO was merely putting pieces of an incomplete puzzle together and filling in the blanks for yourself.

She stands, and with her movement comes three others, meeting halfway across the room at they walk. “Any news?” Yuuri immediately asks, eyes wide with hope. Niamh feels relatively proud to be able to offer the slightest of closure, and so she nods, waving Otabek over to the computer.

“Yes, we think we’ve found half of his trail… which is a lot more than I could say for many of the other cases I’ve worked on.” Otabek follows her as Yuuri whips his head around to face Viktor, burying his head into his chest in relief. She’s almost certain that they’re crying.

“Yeah, that’s him. Otabek murmurs quietly, stepping away from the terminal to meet gaze. There’s a strong sense of gratitude woven into his still face. “Do you think he’s far away?”

“I doubt it.” Niamh shakes her head. “That was his first pit stop in over… 3 kilometres. I gather the sense that he’s tiring, which means he’s slowed.”

“So now’s are best chance to find him.” The Kazakh concludes.

“It would be, yes.”

Viktor pulls Yuuri towards them, who hastily wipes at his eyes embarrassingly. Thankfully there’s a trusty box of tissues at the table and so the box is offered gently as Yuuri accepts. “Thanks… Sorry, I’ve been a mess lately. This isn’t doing much good for my head.” No, it certainly wouldn’t be.

“That’s completely understandable.” Niamh says, “And I’m honoured you guys trust me enough to help. We’ll find him, it’s only a matter of time and now we have a location to scout.”

“We’ll go with you.” Viktor declares, but no one objects to his proposal. Instead, the detective nods, gathering her belongings before logging out of her terminal and beckoning them over.

“Of course, I don’t make any promises, so try not to get your hopes up just yet… but there’s still a good chance of finding him in the surrounding… area…” She pauses, a hand digging through her pocket as a chime rings in the air. The phone’s caller I.D is a strange number, but Niamh appears to know of it, eyebrows furrowed as she bites her lip,

“Is… Everything okay?” Yuuri asks distantly.

Niamh turns her head, smile plastered on her face but it’s obvious it’s a cover for the confusion she’s feeling. “Yes, yes of course… I’m so sorry, this is the hospital, I think it may be related to one of my other cases so it’s vital I take this… um, I suggest you use the restrooms and get ready to leave – Sorry, this shouldn’t take long.”

“It’s alright, you’re doing us a favour.” Viktor supplies, smiling. Niamh breathes lightly, nodding as she ducks her head, and a finger swipes to accept the call as she slips out of them room. She gives them a passing look through the small office window before turning down in the opposite direction of the breakroom, voice muffling with greater distance.

The remaining three stand awkwardly, unsure as for what to do.

“I’ve been thinking about this you know.” Viktor suddenly says, surprising Otabek and Yuuri. “Why Yuri thought it best to run away and all…” Yuuri thinking was often a nightmare, Viktor thinking tended to be impersonal and Otabek… well, Otabek kept his thoughts to himself.

“And?” Yuuri presses, it’s not hard to see that pretty much everyone is thinking about it. Viktor’s face darkens as he laces his hands together, thinking about how to word his explanation.

“I think he’s like me… or… how I used to be.” There’s a sigh as he averts his eyes. “When I was younger, I didn’t really feel a connection with family, so I grew hesitant with the concept of the different types of love, embarrassed even. I pushed past it eventually, I guess one can only become so touch starved before dying of hunger… but we all know Yuri’s…”

“Stubborn.” Otabek cuts in, barely shrugging. “He’s stubborn and has a thick head. And no common sense.” Yuuri bites his lip as he listens to Otabek. It’s clear that he’s hurting from the quite dramatic rejection, and again after letting Yuri slip between his fingers. Hell, Yuuri and Viktor were devastated, and they hadn’t even been with Yuri at the time.

“Well yes. That too.” Viktor agrees, a finger pressed against his lips in thought. “But it makes sense no? He ran away from a confession… Nikolai, his grandfather… yeah… and don’t forget the stuff Mark said?” He tugs at the back pocket of his pants, struggling before a few papers come loose. He hastily unfolds them, revealing the print to be a double spread of the pages found in a magazine, torn carefully before being folded. “I also went through his stuff –“

“Viktor!” Yuuri protests, mouth agape as the Russian waves his hands precariously. He shows Otabek and Yuuri his find, prying his husband’s hands open to stuff the paper into his grip. “That’s an invasion of his privacy! No! I’m not going to look at his magazine and you shouldn’t’ have torn things out! That’s not– Viktor I won’t read— that’s… this is… w-what… Viktor, what is this?”

The frantic panic is immediately replaced with confusion, and Otabek draws closer to observe as well. The pages have a few pictures, from a very familiar photoshoot, and Yuuri’s breathing stills as he recognises the interview he’d participated in. His eyes skim the page. Admittedly he’d forgotten he’d ever done this segment, and his eyes widen as he realises that this is the first time he’s ever seen the final print.

“He had this?” Otabek asks, observing the pictures.

“Yes.” Viktor nods. “The magazine’s spine had been opened to this page, so he’s read it, and despite everything, he kept it.”

There’s a heavy silence that falls as Yuuri rereads the words he’d said so long ago, bottom lip wobbling with the threat to cry.  He doesn’t let that happen though, he instead closes his eyes, blinking rapidly to push back the tears and hugs the paper dearly towards his chest, sighing with a nod of his head. He’s never managed to calm down himself so easily before, but as he folds the paper up and hands it back to his husband, he feels surprisingly better.

The door to the office bursts open, jolting the three inside. It’s the perfect timing considering the end to their own conversation, and judging by Niamh’s frantic eyes darting about, she’s got something to say for herself.

“We don’t need to go out searching.” She says slowly, shutting the door behind her as she relaxes. It’s clear her state is worrying them, so she tries her best to be calm and relay the news. “The hospital called because Yuri has been found, we are closest to him and need to get to his location right now, an ambulance is on their way.”

Yuuri had always thought that should someone he cared deeply for ever ended up hurt or in emergency care, time would have frozen still and he’d have collapsed. Considering his profession, this unfortunately, has happened more times than he’d like to count. Sprains, strains, occasional dislocations and broken bones. It’s happened, it always happens– thankfully not to him, but he’s seen it. However this time Yuuri is fuelled with so much anxiety; for the unknown, for Yuri’s condition, that he’s already dragging everyone out of the room, breaking into a run.

“We’ll take one of our cars.” Niamh declares, taking lead as she directs them towards the downstairs garage. She fumbles with her key card, swiping, tapping, hitting buttons as she pushes doors unlocked and shoves them all through. They’re in a police car within minutes, the car reversing despite Otabek still half climbing in, and soon they’re off, lights flicked on, siren wailing, and GPS spitting instructions to Yuri’s location.

“Do we know what’s happened?” Yuuri’s voice cuts in. He’s situated in the back of the car with Otabek, Viktor riding shotgun as Niamh practically slams the gas pedal. The anxiety has most definitely mixed with the adrenaline in the most weirdest and wonderful of ways. He’s focused, energised _and desperate to see Yuri_.

“He’s near another corner store at an outdoor car park.” Niamh says, cutting a red light to turn left. “They don’t know for sure but they suspect dehydration, heatstroke, minor injuries… but he’ll live, if that’s what you’re wondering.” There’s a collective sigh that escaped from three mouths, and the detective only feels marginally bad for not leading with that first.

“It’s almost over.” Otabek eventually says, hands pocketing themselves into the depths of his pants. He appears nonchalant but everyone within the vehicle can practically read the underlying urgency by now. After all, they’re feeling the same too.

The GPS makes an indication for where to turn, and Niamh cuts a corner harshly. The car tilts as the wheel slips along the raised area, falling down with a quick jolt as they continue. Yuuri thinks he hears a few cars beeping in protest, but he discovers that he really couldn’t care less.

The car grinds to a stop, along with Yuuri’s pounding heart, as he unbuckles the clasp fastened around his waist and throws the car door open. He distantly hears Viktor call out for him to wait, but his body is on autopilot and he leg is already half hanging out of a slowly stopping vehicle. He mentally counts down; _one, two, three—_

—He throws himself forward, feet landing steadily as he bend his knees, the police car finally stopping two meters away. He’s already moving his legs, in the repeated pattern of steps, eyes locked onto the figures calling out to their direction. The car park’s ground is uneven, and twice he almost trips and falls, only to regain his balance like the expert figure skater he is.

He’s there, he can see them; the guy who found him and the small bundle of –

“YURA!” His voice cracks with the scream, his body collapsing as he draws near. The harsh ground tears the knees of the fabric making his pants, and he feels his skin grazing afterwards. His body is right beside the stranger, who instantly makes a move to let Yuuri engulf the smaller boy into a hug. In the corner of Yuuri’s eye, he can see the man, who he believes is the store manager, make his way over to talk to Niamh. The rest is ignored; it doesn’t matter.

“G-get off me you pig!” Yuri rasps out, voice croaky as he tries to swat the doting man away. But Yuuri absolutely refuses, drawing him closer and tighter if possible, tears running down his face and falling onto destroyed tresses.

“Oh my god Yura. Oh my god, oh my god…We were so worried— you disappeared! And- and, you’re here! Oh my god we found you and you’re going to be okay and—“

“Back of!” The surge of anger, while weaker than usual is still just as assertive. Yuri manages to push himself away from the Japanese man, glaring as he shifts himself towards the brick wall. His head is pounding terribly and his throat is scratchy as he speaks, but he most certainly doesn’t want to deal with Yuuri. If Yuuri’s here, Viktor isn’t far behind, and if Viktor isn’t far behind then Otabek would be too. Something tightens in his chest as he realises this. “Leave me alone! Fuck off!”

“Yuri, I- I’m just relieved you’re okay! You’re going to be fine… There’s an ambulance on its way and –“

“Jesus Christ!” Yuri snaps. He isn’t religious but even saying that makes him feel as though he should apologise. Don’t say the lord’s name in vain or something along those lines. He should also stop while he’s ahead, but unfortunately the smart part of Yuri isn’t active, and instead he chooses to leap without looking. “Is that all you can say?” He continues, or at least tries to with his squabbled voice, “I’m not a fucking child! Leave me the hell alone, I didn’t ask you to play ’family’! Is that what you want? With little plastic cups and tea? And a doll house? I’m not you’re fucking kid and you and your stupid husband aren’t my family!”

Yuuri’s face stills, shock written so clearly before morphing into something else entirely. It’s a new expression, one that Yuri can’t read, and so he glares, holding to his cause as he tries his best to hold out while still sick.

“You don’t mean that.” Yuuri mumbles dryly. “I know you don’t—“

“Why the hell I say it then?” Yuri shoots back, almost challenging, “You’re just a fucking—!’

“—I’VE BEEN SO _. WORRIED_!” Yuuri screams, and the dead silence floating amongst the car park becomes even more so somehow. No one talks as Yuuri’s breathing regains control, a glare surpassing even Yuri’s, on his face to pair with the tears. “Do you not have _any_ idea what the fuck I— _WE_ have been through!? I-I’ve been a mess! Worried _you_ would get hurt o-or worse! Viktor has been freaking out that we did something wrong! Otabek is _heartbroken_! And you tell us to fuck off?! You tell me that my family is a _joke_?!”

Yuri stares owlishly, frozen still as Yuuri yells, hands waving, knees bleeding and in so much distress he gets whiplash. Yuuri doesn’t get angry, Yuuri is always, _always_ calm and yet there’s _so much_ anger. Yuri tilts his gaze to see just beyond him; Viktor and Otabek have stilled in their movements towards them while a police officer and the store manager slow their conversation. He feels the tightening _clench_ in his gut and he blanches, lost. “I-I… I… That’s—“

“We _care_! Okay?!” Yuuri cut’s into his pathetic attempt to speak, and the tears burst maniacally. “You can run, y-you can tell us to fuck off, you can say you don’t really need us and we aren’t family but you _know_ that’s not true!” He sniffles, puffy, swollen eyes blink at him, nose red and cheeks flushed. The dejection in his tone begins to seep through, voice faltering, “So… please Yuri… for once… just…” There’s no end to the sentence.

It takes a moment before he feels Viktor and Otabek’s presence, recognising their closeness before he truly sees them. His sight is kept busy focusing on the ants crawling across the ground. He kind of wishes he were an ant right now; at least that way he’d most likely be squished.

“Yura,” Viktor whispers, his own, shiny, silent tears trailing down his cheeks. It’s a vulnerable sight, he doesn’t ever recall seeing Viktor cry in the years he’s known him, and when Otabek hesitantly reaches out to grab his hand, he tenses. Slowly, the gesture is reciprocated, face frozen and unfeeling and Yuuri wipes his face with the back of his hand as Viktor sighs. “Yura p-please. Not today… we’re tired… worried… you’re hurt… and besides, y-you wouldn’t make an old man cry, right?”

The laughter from Viktor’s lips is shaky as he quietly scoops the boy into his arms, Yuuri protecting his other side as he hesitantly resumes his previous hold. Yuri doesn’t move this time, doesn’t protest, or yell, scream and shout. He instead swallows thickly, throat sticky and dry as the lump burns. “W-why.” Is all he says, he isn’t sure how else to continue but thankfully what he _tries_ to – and does so terribly – convey, seems to be understood.

“Never question why.” Yuuri speaks up, voice now soft and familiar. It warms him from the head down. “We love you Yuri… and I shouldn’t have yelled… I-I was so scared, I just— we love you. _So_ much. You don’t have to say anything, but we care about you... a-and just… we want to understand _what happened_.” There’s no expectation for the entire story to be told right now, or even today, but Yuri, amongst the chaotic dizziness and nausea— he’d apparently been slipping in and out of consciousness— feels different.

This different is something twisted in his body, but twisted in a way hair curls or pastries swirl. It’s a sense of comfort that thankfully manages to control the sick in his stomach. It’s something far more pleasant, far less aching than the usual hurt he’d felt in his chest and it resonates within him. He thinks he should be blushing, after all, Yuuri just said something _incredibly_ mushy that makes his internal organs want to curl up. He surprises himself when he finds he prefers _this_ sensation over the throb of his heart.

“Okay…okay.” He nods, blinking the sparkling spots from his eyelids away. More splatter across his vision as he focuses on the hold around him and in his hands; it’s almost cosy, save the harsh ground they’re strewn on. He doesn’t know what makes him say what he says, maybe the moment, or the confusion; potentially the fatigue and hangover. Hell, maybe he’s really just given in, maybe it’s a sign that his brain just wants to cooperate _for once_.

He closes his eyes and sighs, fingers finding their way to softly massage at his scalp, playing with his hair, keeping him close and safe. _He doesn’t deserve this_ claims the voice in his head, just as it has been this entire time. _He doesn’t need their help._ Yuri wishes in that moment it were possible to beat the shit out of the intrusive thoughts, but he’s tired again, and the sickness doesn’t settle down despite his attempts to force it. The static words continue to whispers, to which Yuri takes doubt.

“I’m sorry.” He breathes out before he can even consider the static voice; and he means it.

“Don’t be.” Comes Otabek’s voice, ever so patient, just as always. If he didn’t hate Yuri, which was a very unlikely scenario, he thinks Otabek would be the best friend in the world. He’d also wonder why Otabek had ever fancied him, it was clear he didn’t deserve someone so good. “What matters is that you’re okay.”

“Exactly.” Viktor’s voice drifts into his ear; it is not the expected cheerfulness, it’s quiet. “We’ll all need to sit down and talk… but that’s not always easy; so we’ll remind you, over and over again until it’s in that thick skull of yours,” He pauses to give a soft laugh, “there really isn’t anything to be sorry for, or worried about, or embarrassed of. Okay? You aren’t weak, or stupid or _childish_ —“

Yuri _really_ doesn’t deserve these people.

“— You’re strong, and brave for allowing us in. We want to understand, we want to help… please let us.”

Yuri hears distantly the sound of a fading ambulance, along with some people shuffling around in the background. There are voices, there are clattering sounds, there’s what he thinks a stretcher being unloaded. Yuuri, Viktor and Otabek surround him in a blanket of quiet, despite the obvious disturbance, and he allows his head to fall into Yuuri’s shoulder.

His face stings a lot at the contact, sunburnt and hurting with the additional heat from Yuuri, but Yuri can’t be bothered to move and find a more comfortable position. Viktor still hugs his left side and Otabek still holds his hand, tracing soft patterns over his knuckles and palm. “I don’t deserve this.” He mumbles, eyes burning as he whispers.

The tears trail down his cheeks, the only thing alleviating pain where they mark. His lips quiver as he bites into the flesh. He can admit he’s embarrassed, not necessarily _aloud_ but to himself at least, it’s a star.

“You do Yuri.” Otabek says, fingers squeezing his in comfort. The gesture, and the weight pressing at each of his sides, are the only things he can register, eyes flowing shut as the world continues to warp into darker colours. A hand tucks some hair behind his pale face, gently smoothing the locks into place. “You don’t have to believe it, just know it; you deserve everything and more.”

Yuri tries to return the squeeze to Otabek, the bitten lip slowly released. Yuri Plisetsky’s fear? Well, maybe if you asked him a month or so ago he’d confidently boast that the Ice Tiger of Russia had none. Now? Well, yeah, there is that ‘new’ fear of his, one that took him a few days to figure out and a millennia to accept, but Yuri doesn’t really consider it something _new_. Things don’t just _appear_ like magic after all, surely it’s just never had a reason to come out before.

So now, yeah, there’s a fear; something only he knows. There’s also two parental figures, and one… best friend?  Friend? Acquaintance? – Who need answers; answers only he could properly give. You could ask him if he has a fear and the answer would be ‘yes’ – there’s no point in lying or denying something that obvious, but only he, and, dare he say it, _family,_ will ever know what it is.

Family… still such a strange word.

 

* * *

 

 

Yuri Plisetsky was the most stubborn Russian Yuuri had ever known.

Of course, this opinion was completely subjective to the Japanese man who shared the same name, and despite how it couldn’t— no, _shouldn’t_ be possible for anyone to be more stubborn than his husband –that was a challenge in and of itself— here he was, doubting all he thought he knew.

“I told you I’m fine, you don’t need to baby me.”

Yuuri sighs for the umpteenth time, patting Viktor on the back. The small gesture does nothing to alleviate the tension within him however, cold eyes burning with such an intensity, Yuuri could feel the longing desire to strangle the child in bed. _What were you thinking?!_ He could almost hear Viktor’s accusation, and smiles inwardly at the idea that he would also be throwing Russian expletives if it weren’t for the fact that the circumstances were not appropriate for yelling. Feeling the tension in the muscles of his back, Yuuri wraps an arm tightly around the taller man, snuggling closer into his side.

He’s happy, so much more happy, Viktor, not so much.

“That’s all you care about?!” Viktor bursts, body naturally relaxing into Yuuri’s mould. He could only do so much to eradicate the lingering anger after all. “You were dehydrated, had heat stroke _and_ managed to sprain your ankle! Not to mention the countless _other_ things I can’t remember off the top of my head!”

“Yeah, cause you’re an old man with bad memory—“

“You’re lucky you didn’t break any bones!”

The fire returns, burning brighter in Viktor’s Icy blue eyes than ever before as he manoeuvres around the odd contraptions in the room to examine the boy’s broken and tired body, as if in disbelief that what he was witnessing was real. However, with everyone crowded around the flat, white hospital bed and the constant shuffling around of the various machines that strung out from nowhere, the situation was _too_ real, so real that it was impossible to pretend otherwise.

“But I’m _fine_.” The blonde boy snaps back, turquoise eyes sparkling in annoyance. Viktor grit his teeth in response, eyes crinkling in frustration; it was the first time Yuri had awoken completely lucid since being admitted into the hospital 6 hours ago. Already, he was shoving his expected persona to the front line, avoiding anything to do with the world feelings. Typical Yuri.

Yuri’s denial towards the moments before he’d been taken into the ambulance had been agitating. Yuuri, Viktor and Otabek had all wanted to bombard him with questions, to finally close off the space he’d placed between them, but they also knew, even without the doctor’s suggestion, to wait a little more. The waiting game was internally killing them in addition, but for the sake of letting Yuri be comfortable, they stepped down for the time being.  

To the left of the second-most-stubborn-Russian Yuuri had ever known, stood Otabek, who had been stoic and unmoving for the past hour. Being a man of not too many words, Yuuri could appreciate his silence, often speaking louder than any verbal language he knew – but it had become clear that even this time, the Kazakh skater needed more than a quirk of an eyebrow to convey how he felt on the matter. Patting Viktor’s shoulder in defeat, a sigh escaped his lips, the first and last word he’d speak for that day.

“Yes, because it was so cool how you were screaming bloody murder in the ambulance.” Yuuri frowned, mind automatically drawing up the memory of Yuri slipping in and out of his conscious state. It wasn’t pretty, seeing the pale skater’s body squirm and yell. He had darker bags under his eyes along with small sores on his feet, staining his socks slightly. Yuuri had felt sick, watching as both Viktor and Otabek exchanged glances. Now that they were together, the overall shock had died down and now they could they see how distraught the blonde was, hair matted to match his craze. Everyone was worried – still worried, for Yuri to be so out of character, so _determined_ to do everything himself. Just observing, with a mixture of confusion as they witnessed the war within him. “You shouldn’t be taking this so lightly, you couldn’t have been seriously hurt.”

“Yeah and I told you already, I’m fine!” the child deadpanned, snorting with a roll of his eyes as if it were a logical explanation, “You can all go to your cosy hotel or whatever, I’m not a fucking baby.”

_Thank you for helping me, it means a lot_. Yuuri translates in his head, ignoring the brash behaviour in favour for the true, hidden meaning behind the whining in his ears. ”We promised we’d be here for you Yurochka.” Otabek mumbles quietly, but Yuuri isn’t even sure if that’s what the soft spoken man had said, mainly due to just how low he’d mumbled. Yuri appeared to hear well enough however, mouth shutting up quickly.

“He’s being ridiculous.” Viktor shakes his head, “He’s either toying with us, emotionally insecure or high off his head on… I don’t know!” A momentary pause is taken as the man directs his attention specifically to the bedridden boy. “Yuri Plisetsky, you’re our family, do you not care about how we feel?!” The reminder is a persistent one that either has no effect on Yuri, or is slowly eating at him inside out.

“YOU AREN’T MY DAD!” Yuri retorts, heart monitor increasing in frequency as he clenches his fists, “STOP FUSSING OVER ME… YOU- YOU _GLUPYY!”_

“Let’s calm down Vitya,” Yuuri pulls gently at his arm, warily attempting to separate the two, “Vicchan, I know you’re worried, but just… let him be for now, he only just woke up.” There’s a hesitant look in his husband’s eyes, scanning Yuuri’s face with close inspection. Really it seemed more like a glare, but as predicted, the loving diminutives did well in drawing the platinum blonde away, if not reluctantly.

The small moment is interrupted by the sound of light steps, accented with the barest echo from that of a heel. It isn’t much longer before the group falls easily into a completely, dead, silence, curiously turning to eye the hospital room’s door as it clicks with the handle’s rotation. It slips open, revealing a young woman decked out in a blue working uniform and black dress pants. The skaters plastered on identical smiles in an attempt to hide the lingering tension in the air, but the girl barely takes notice, or if she did, she was too flustered to say anything on the matter.

“Good afternoon.” Yuuri greets politely, offering an apologetic look as he nudges Viktor’s foot discreetly. The woman only stares after the Japanese man, which becomes a clear indicator that she probably hadn’t understood what he’d said. Sometimes he hates the lingering ghost of his accent, even if by now, after years of speaking English, it pops up in the most inconvenient of places. He’d been used to people misunderstanding him due to his accent, he’d even laughed along with Viktor whenever they’d both slip up on their pronunciation. It was a good thing the both of them were getting better – although Yuuri wasn’t entirely sure how there could be so many different accents within the English language itself, and neither were entirely sure as to which would be easiest to learn and understand. “Sorry, um, hi! I’m Yuuri. That’s Otabek, this is Viktor—“

“Hmm?” The Russian besides him hums, before staring at the woman in recognition, “Oh! Hello!”

The woman smiles, a small “Oh!” Escaping her lips as she beams at each person in the room. First to Yuuri, who she offers an apologetic smile for, then Otabek and finally Viktor. She spots Yuri in the bed, grumpy frown on his face as he glares in her general direction but doesn’t react. “It’s a good thing you guys speak English.” She laughs, “Apparently you’ve been on a… man hunt across the globe?”

“Something like that.” Yuuri returns lightly. The woman nods and continues on.

“In any case, before we begin,” she pauses, stepping closer towards the end of the bed with the clipboard attached, “Does Mr Plisetsky speak english?”

“ _нет дерьма._ ”

Yuuri had understood that phrase, having heard the younger Russian cuss on many occasions in the past, but he chose to instead seek answers from Viktor, who, if looks could kill, would have murdered Yuri’s soul after murdering him first.

“Yuri, be quiet.” Viktor hisses, no longer deciding to play along with the innocent charm, turning to face the lady. ”Yes, he does.”

“Perfect. I’m Anastasiya by the way, I’m going to be your nurse for the day.” She turns to eye the bed ridden boy, smiling politely as she squeezes her way past Otabek. Anastasiya returns her attention to the clipboard that now lays in her hands. A quieter “Excuse me Otabek.” was passed to the other man, who’d seemingly been content with listening to the previous conversation.

Stepping to said skater’s side, the nurse begins to leaf through the contents on the pages. Yuuri could identify the English lettering littering the lined pages with handwritten numbers filling out the grid. On the next page, he could identify Yuri’s information, as the assistant began nodding her head in thought. “Okay then, for all purposes of this task, I need to follow procedure and ask, could you state your full name and birthdate?”

Yuri sighs before nodding his head. “Yeah, Yuri Plisetsky, March 1st, 2001.” It’s surprisingly cooperative for someone demanding they were fine mere minutes ago.

“Thank you Yuri, may I see your hospital bracelet to check the identification please?” There’s a tell-tale glint in the teen’s eyes, one that Viktor seems to pick up on immediately.

“Hmm… No.” Yuri says, as if he were seriously contemplating such choice of words.

That certainly wasn’t the answer Anastasiya was expecting to hear, but with a little understanding and some patience, she nods her head in an attempt to find out why he had refused. She knew some patients were vulnerable and wanted to simply hide away from the world for a little while, and with those people, she’d work as quickly as possible. Others simply weren’t confident in a stranger, and although Viktor was convinced that the boy was simply messing around, it was clear that this had been used as a façade for the truth, whether being a conscious decision or not.

“Yuri Plisetsky!” Viktor cuts off her thoughts.

“You aren’t my dad!”

“I swear to god—“                                          

“You aren’t even Christian!”

“What does this situation have to do with Christianity!?”

“You’re face!”

“ _My_ face?! I’m not the one in hospital, lying on a bed and looking like he just ran through traffic!”

“TAKE THAT BACK YOU BALDING EGG!”

“YOU IGNORANT IDIOT!”

“BAKKA BAKKA BAKKAAAAAAAAAAA!”

“SWEARING IN JAPANESE DOESN’T WORK ON ME!”

“DUMBASS!”

“YOU HAVE THREE SECONDS TO SHOW ANASTASIYA THAT DAMN BRACLET”

“BAAAAKKKAAAAAAAAAAAA”

“ONE!”

Yuuri gives a soft sigh, a hand rubbing his face before pinching the bridge of his nose. He could feel it, feel the migraine forming as the two continued to bicker in the background. After years of enduring the occasional brawl between the two Russians, Yuuri had finally mastered the art of converting it into white noise, and now here he was, undoing all the progress he’d made.”

“A-are….are they always like this?” Anastasiya whispers unsurely.

“TWO!” Viktor’s voice rings out.

“Yep.” Yuuri snorted, “They’re like a protective father and an angsty teen.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve heard this.” Otabek admits, he can remember those infamous skype calls.

“THREE!” Viktor yells, making a grab for the lump closest to Yuri that resembls a hand. Within seconds, the smaller boy’s wrist is tugged out into the open as a high pitched shriek rings through the room.

“Well, I guess that’s one way to do it…” Anastasiya says flatly, peering at the plastic bracelet quickly before glancing at the folder in hand. The younger Russian makes a hand gesture to the older one, both staring at each other as Viktor releases his wrist. “We seem to be good to go in any case so I’m just going to read his vitals, what would you like to start with first?”

“Is there one where you knock them both out?” Yuuri silently jokes under his breath. Anastasiya snorts softly, somehow picking up on his comment.

“Ah, no, I can’t administer medication in this situation.” She mumbles.

“Shame.”

Otabek moves aside to poke Yuri’s shoulder, offering a silent, tight-lipped stare. Apparently everyone else had missed something because suddenly Yuri was very serious and very sombre. “Uh, yeah I don’t care. Do it however you want.” He says, turning away with what could only be guilt on his face.

It takes another ten minutes for the check up to be complete, and in that time Yuuri manages to update Phichit on the situation, after having left him on read from the last update. Yuuri also manages to find a vending machine, scavenge the first floor for a $2 coin, successfully find one, and grab a chocolate bar – thankfully they’re unwinding Yuri from the final machine when he returns.

“He’s all back to normal, the doctor said he could sign out and go home once they were satisfactory.” Anastasiya explains, hands clasped neatly. Yuuri watches Yuri sit up and swing his feet across the bed. Right. He still didn’t have shoes.

Thankfully Otabek is the one to remedy the problem, opening his day bag to procure the familiar leopard print sneakers that Yuri had taken a liking to. They watch as he grumbles and snatches them, cheeks flushing red in embarrassment as he shoves his feet into them and laces them up. Anastasiya smiles as she hands Viktor some forms to sign before offering the same paper to Yuri to do the same.

Viktor can’t read the expression on the blonde boy’s face, it’s oddly blank for a person who’s supposed to be feeling much better – or maybe assuming was the mistake. “What are you all looking at me for? You heard the lady – I’m fine!” Yuri snaps, pushing himself off of the bed. His ankle is wrapped in a compress bandage, yet he walks as if there were nothing. Otabek wonders if that is the same for how Yuri’s feeling, that maybe, he’s living as if there’s nothing too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel as though Yuri would be going through the stages of acceptance/ grief and has begun the process of leaving anger (when they'd found him/ at the hospital) and reluctantly entering the bargaining stage (Where he talks and tries yo find an easy solution - but that's for next chapter!). Denial would of course, be the running away (no matter how ineffective it was)
> 
> Thank you so much for the constructive criticism by the way!
> 
> (This story isn't beta read!)


	14. Philophobia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You heard nothing.” He decides instead, head twisting away. His hair is too short to tie up, a bad haircut decision in hindsight, as it swishes and smacks him in the face with his movement. He tries to angrily remove hair from his mouth but it’s not exactly something easy to do angrily.
> 
> “I heard a lot of somethings.” Yuuri corrects him, shifting in his spot across the room. “And you think I’m not going to hear any more of those somethings but Yuri, you’re wrong.”
> 
> Was this still the same, sweet, shy Katsuki Yuuri he’d spent years pushing around nonchalantly?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, we have;
> 
> \- Tears  
> \- Talking  
> \- Viktor and Otabek   
> \- Yuuri and Yuri 
> 
> We are finally getting to the talking a bit more, and a developed understanding is forming. I know that there are many ways to represent a person in the stages of moving on, especially someone who's at the depressed stage, so I'm basing this interaction off of my own experiences, which may be different for others.

Yuri rolls his eyes before flopping into the bed. It’s plush and comfortable; perfect for his aching body. “You two better not be punching each other’s tongues.” He warns, rolling onto his stomach before eyeing the couple. He pretends to gag at their close proximity.

“Yuri—“ Viktor begins, Yuuri placing a hand on his forearm to stunt the sentence escaping. Yuri pretends he doesn’t notice the obvious trade of silent words, pretends for a little that he’s oblivious. He thinks he’s doing a pretty good job at controlling everything; he doesn’t want to dive into anything right now, perhaps acting the part can make the part?

Apparently not, since Viktor is more than convinced he needs the answers they’ve been after, shrugging his husband off to give him a pointed look.

Wow. Trouble in paradise.

Yuri starts to wonder if staying with Viktor and Yuuri had been the smartest decision he’s made, then and again he hasn’t made many of those as of late. He reckons he should have just gone with Otabek the minute the option was presented; he only regrets his nerves for rejecting it. In fact, he’s not even sure how dealing with two people became a better idea than dealing with one. At least Otabek would respect his boundaries.

“You look like you’re on your death bed old man.” Yuri decides to joke, and he almost expects to see the fake hurt on Viktor’s face, playfully pouting in jest of the comment. For a moment, there’s nothing but silence, and then settles the hostility, _nothing_ like Yuri’s ever experienced before.

Viktor’s eyes are a vibrant sky blue. The shade of calm, rolling waves intersecting the horizon kissing the skyline. It’s the blend of when those two meet. Against the ash grey of his hair, they stand out rather remarkably, amplifying his features tenfold. This was often great for ice skating, there he could throw his passion for the ice in front of everyone, or Yuuri, who could admire his effect on the man. Or any poor fool – mainly Yuri – who happened to witness his pining.

His eyes are ice.

An exaggeration or not, the room feels as if it grows colder, and Yuri almost, _almost_ makes a joke about Viktor and Elsa from _Frozen_. The only reason he doesn’t is for the sake of Yuuri’s current expression; wary and concerned.

“Vitya—“

“I’m heading out, I’ll be with Otabek.” Viktor decides finally. His body goes ridged as he leaves, perfect posture, perfect _smile_.

The hotel door slams shut. Yuri blinks.

He almost expects Yuuri to rage on, something that he knew was now within the realm of possibilities, but instead he looked almost like he’d given up. Yuri inwardly sighs, exasperatedly. A sulky Yuuri was never a fun Yuuri.

“Look, he just needs to get his shit out of his system. It’s going to be _fine_ Katsudon.” Yuri begins, almost hoping his passive-aggressive nickname for the man would be enough to quench the underlying distress.

Spoiler alert; it doesn’t.

“Yuri.” Yuuri says instead, eyes shut, mouth soundlessly moving. He’s done this countless of times before, usually in scenarios of utmost panic, but even know, with his clenching and unclenching fists – a new development, Yuri can make out the Japanese numerals. “ _Ju, kyū, hachi, nana, roku…”_

He turns away, arms folding as he stares at the door that Viktor had disappeared through. He starts to wish that _he_ could have left for some fresh air. He doubts that it would have actually worked though. Knowing the overly affectionate couple, they’d have hired bodyguards or something to tag along behind him.

_Go, yon, san, ni, ichi…_ He can’t hear Yuuri mumbling anymore but the countdown had triggered his brain, embedding itself into his minds so that all he could do was mentally complete the pattern himself. Brains were weird things.

“Yuri.” Yuuri repeats again, voice steadier than it had sounded before. “Do you want something to eat?”

Well, that was unexpected.

 

* * *

 

 

Otabek _thinks_ he can understand what’s going through Viktor and Yuuri’s head. He _thinks_ he understands what’s going through Yuri’s. He most certainly _doesn’t_ know what he’s thinking.

Honestly, it’s a jumble of phonetic sounds, various languages and images, all filtering like a movie that’d been chopped up into pieces and played in a random order. It doesn’t make sense and he’s still trying to work through the next part, the ‘what happens next?’ ordeal.

When Yuri had been discharged there was no question as to if he’d be staying with Otabek or the couple. He most definitely wasn’t staying alone and their odd argument that wasn’t even really n argument was still existent.

And then there was the façade.

The continuous protests of “I’m fine” had been somewhat unnerving for him, perhaps because out of his time knowing the boy, the “I’m fine”s had been so much easier to read. Saying it while falling on the ice was an obvious, “I’m frustrated this isn’t working out for me.”; yelling it after busting his lip when falling a second time had meant “Stop mollycoddling me!”; hell, even the times he’d said it while hugging Potya had been a clear “I don’t want to ask for your help but I desperately need it.”.

But now? Originally Otabek had thought it was the last one, minus the obvious cat and the desperation in Yuri’s voice, however, his constant need to push himself away said otherwise. Usually he’d reluctantly accept help, even if protesting with a grumble, but at the hospital he’d flat out screamed.

He _thinks_ , with that being the keyword here, that Yuri is most definitely scared of them. Is this perhaps the reason why he ran away in the first place? No, not quite, there’s a relationship between that and being scared of people he was very familiar with, Otabek is sure, but in order to resolve the fear of even approaching Viktor, Yuuri and himself in Yuri’s usual brash way, they still needed Yuri to open up.

How paradoxical.

It feels almost impossible, especially with how close they are. Like a liar claiming they are a liar – does that therefore make them honest? But then that’d be lie? They need to know what the root of the problem has been, but they can’t if Yuri won’t speak with them, and Yuri can’t speak to them until the root of the problem had been explained. But the problem can’t be explain if—

Otabek thinks – no, he know. He knows that if _something_ doesn’t distract him soon, he’s sure _he’ll_ be the one to pull a “Yuri Plisetsky” and run away.

“Otabek? You in your room?” Oh thank the heavens.

Otabek lifts his head up from his phone, blinking at the screen open on a YouTube video. It hadn’t been the one he last remembered searching, so his only conclusion is that he’d gotten caught up thinking and let the autoplay function do its thing.

The voice from his room’s door calls out to him again, so he quickly stands, trudging to the door to spy through the peephole. It’s Viktor.

He welcomes the man in almost instantly, not even bothering to question where Yuri and Yuuri had been. If he was right, they’d still be in their room. “Is… something wrong?”

Well yes, a _lot_ of things were wrong. Perhaps that wasn’t the best choice of word.

Viktor sighs, and Otabek can tell he’s in for a long story, just by the way the man flops onto the bed and stares up at the ceiling blankly. “Yuri is… I don’t even know.”

“He say something again?” Otabek asks, sitting cross-legged beside him. Viktor turns his head, body still splayed out with a look of consideration on his features.

“I don’t know what to do.” He finally admits, sitting up, “I don’t even know what’s _wrong_ … shit… he’s just, acting like nothing ever happened and it’s _frustrating.”_

“I understand that more than you could possibly believe.” Otabek responds, fingers fiddling with his phone. Viktor’s blue eyes widen in realisation, mouth opening as he tries to form words.

“Oh Otabek…shit… yeah.” He says. He clears his throat, there’s more he clearly wants to ask but he’s unsure as to if it’s alright. Otabek takes pity and nods anyway. “How are you feeling…after the um… disagreement?”

“No clue.’ He says honestly, “I don’t even know if it _is_ an argument… rejection? I want to talk about it but…”

“Yeah…” There’s another silence. “You don’t usually open up about these things.” Viktor notes.

Otabek shrugs his shoulders like he couldn’t care less in that moment. “Things happen, people change, even if only temporary. It’s how humans cope; we adapt and try to fill in the gaps with what we need from others.”

Viktor sucks in a breath. “Couldn’t have been better said my friend.” Otabek raises an eyebrow up in question at the tittle. Were they really friends? He’d figure more acquaintances, like Yuri had once insisted, but then and again he _had_ been around Yuuri and Viktor more as a result of Yuri.

“Want room service?” He asks, plucking the menu card from the bedside table. The sudden change in topic almost welcoming if it weren’t for the questions they’d both had for the one person who wouldn’t open up.

“Sure, one of everything – I think I need to do what my husband does and eat my life away.” It’s said lightly with a soft raise of his voice to indicate the joke, and for the first time, tension slips away as Otabek nods, reaching for the phone.

He dials the room service number, quite literally asks for “One of everything on the menu”, listens to the splutters of surprise from the woman serving, and smiles as Viktor laughs.

 

* * *

 

 

The dishes had been stacked and placed outside in two neat piles, cutlery and chicken bones on the topmost layer. It was apparently called etiquette and consideration, as in, manners for the hotel staff so they wouldn’t be balancing four uneven plates with food scraps in between. It sort of makes sense, but Yuri’s too busy overanalysing – something _Yuuri_ was supposed to be good at, not him – and trying to work out the entire situation.

There’s a movie playing on the hotel TV. One of the new releases from _Disney_ or so he thinks, he isn’t entirely sure as he didn’t see the tittle of the movie, but the characters _look_ like a _Disney_ film so he goes along with that.

On the second bed, away from him, sits Yuuri, the other half of the gross pair that he was rooming with, eyes fixed to the screen as he silently mouths along to the obnoxiously Viktor—esque song that’s being sung.

Really, he should be grateful that he’s getting exactly what he wants; silence, normality. There is nothing happening in that moment to suggest Yuri had even run off to another country in the first place. For all he knew, he was at a holiday with his family and boyfriend, and he could jokingly pretend that one of his overly protective dads was currently giving his poor, said boyfriend the shovel talk.

_“But Viktor, I love your son!” Pretend-Beka proclaims, hands thrown wide in gesture. “I promise that I’d never hurt him!”_

_“Yeah dad!” Pretend-Yuri insists, desperately trying to prove his boyfriend was most certainly loyal._

_“Vitya, stop teasing our son and leave him be.” Pretend-Yuuri calls._

_“But my Yuuri!” Pretend-Viktor pouts, before frowning, “What about their argument?”_

_Argument? What argument?_

_“It was a mistake.” Pretend-Otabek quickly assures him, “I was scared but I’m not anymore, I didn’t mean to run off or hurt anyone.”_

_Pretend-Otabek ran off? Pretend-Yuri frowns, confused as Pretend-Viktor looks on disapprovingly._

_"We were all worried!” Pretend-Viktor argues, still unswayed. He catches a glimpse of the vulnerable look on his boyfriend’s face, this doesn’t make sense!_

“But didn’t _I_ run away? Wasn’t that _me_ who hurt everyone?” Yuuri turns his head to stare, snapping so quickly his vision blurs for a moment. His eyes are blown wide and surprised as Yuri continues to mumble. “Otabek didn’t do anything, he’s just trying to look out for me! I’m the one who’s scared. And it’s stupid! Who even _gets_ scared of—“

He’s talking aloud.

His mouth snaps shut as he tries to continue pretending. Pretending he didn’t just begin omitting his thoughts, pretending he didn’t just image another scenario, one he painfully admits he’d like, pretending there was no Pretend-Viktor, Pretend-Yuuri, Pretend-Otabek and pretend holidays and boyfriends.

He hates himself for letting it come down to this, he prays he can pretend his way out, that Yuuri didn’t hear him, but of course he did, the movie is paused, there’s a tension filling the air like thick smog from a fire and the flames are licking at his heels, rushing him to _talk_ , _say_ _something, anything at all, deny, deny, deny._

“You heard nothing.” He decides instead, head twisting away. His hair is too short to tie up, a bad haircut decision in hindsight, as it swishes and smacks him in the face with his movement. He tries to angrily remove hair from his mouth but it’s not exactly something easy to do angrily.

“I heard a lot of somethings.” Yuuri corrects him, shifting in his spot across the room. “And you think I’m not going to hear any more of those somethings but Yuri, _you’re wrong._ ”

Was this still the same, sweet, shy Katsuki Yuuri he’d spent years pushing around nonchalantly?!

Did marriage unlock some secrete _Dad Mode_?!

How do people act for dads anyway? Yuri never really saw his dad, or mom. He only knows how to act around grandpas— nope.

He wasn’t dealing with _that_ baggage.

Yuri stubbornly sits and avoids direct eye contact with Yuuri, trying to take interest in anything the room has to offer. Four star hotel they say? Zero stars in his opinion – for lack of interesting things to star at while Japanese men stare at you because you’re their friend and have been avoiding them and your other friends ever since they found you when you escaped the country to get away—

He’s venting again.

“Yura.” Yuuri whispers softly. Suddenly he’s at Yuri’s side, invading the personal space bubble he’d build for himself.

It has an odd effect on Yuri, who stills as he feels a hand reach out for his shoulder. The rip isn’t stern like Yakov dragging him around, or Mila hoisting him in the air. It isn’t Viktor’s playful jabs or Yuuri’s usual, uncertain touches either. _It’s like his grandpa’s_.

He had said _no_ to that baggage already, wishing that basic rights of consent could apply to the most trivial of things such as one’s own thoughts – Nikolai’s death had occurred ages ago, and for the most part Yuri was genuinely okay. He’d keep living in honour of him or something like that and he didn’t get as sad anymore, preferring to simply avoid and accept and move on.

The familiar touch slam dunked him back to Earth.

A gentle hand caresses the sweet boy’s head, fingers running through the destroyed locks of hair as if they’re as precious as strands of gold. “Yura, why are you sad?” Yuuri mutters quietly.

Yuri’s been asked this question a thousand times, and a thousand times he shrugs it off without a care. It shouldn’t be any more different, the rehearsed words are on his lips, and he opens his mouth to spit them on command. _I’m fine_ –two syllables, two words. This time, in this room, with Yuuri whispering softly and rocking them back and forth, the teen wants to push and break away from the warmth encircling him and run out of the hotel. He doesn’t know how far he’d get but the feeling is all the more there.

Get up, get away.

He doesn’t, and for a moment he’s terrified as to why his body won’t cooperate, why he stays silent, feeling the palpitations increase within his chest. Every. Single. Beat. Is louder than a drum, pulsing into every sore swallow of his throat. It’s constricting, and as he takes in shallow breaths, quietly as too not rouse suspicion, he feels himself slowly shake, and the trembling become uncontrollable.

“Shhhhh, it’s okay Yura. It’s ok.” Yuuri whispers, cheek pressed against his head.  Yuri had his eyes squeezed shut, mouth forming numbers as he counts down from ten. _Ju, kyū, hachi, nana, roku, go, yon, san…ni…ichi…_

His counter hits zero and he freezes so suddenly, Yuuri worries he’s dropped into unconsciousness. The boy doesn’t tremble anymore, he can’t feel his heart, he can’t feel his breath, he doesn’t register anything his wide eyes are seeing. Can he hear? Can he do something? Is he panicking?

And then the world shatters, crumbling around Yuuri as the boy chokes on air. The sounds escaping his lips are pained, jagged, pronounced, and the gasping tugs at his throat with a burn, forcing air into his lungs without choice. They’re wails, calls of help, screams of agony and all the unknown. They’re the cries of a little child calling out, but sorrowful with the expectation that no one will come.

Yuri cries, face reddening and eyes spilling with tears. They don’t stop, no matter how long he sobs into Yuuri’s shoulder for, and the clutch he holds onto the older man does nothing to slacken. It’s as if he’s terrified to let go, and for that, Yuuri’s heart shatters.

“Yura, I’m here. Yura I’m here, shhh now, sweet Yura, I’ve got you, I won’t let you go.” Yuri only seems to cry harder as he buries his head into the other’s chest. He admits into semi defeat, he can’t leave but he absolutely refuses for Yuuri to see him this way.

“Stop it!” He screeches, fingernails digging into shirt, “STOP, NO STOP!” Yuuri doesn’t move to break away, the torture each word brings only clarifies the unsaid message of desperation. “Stupid...” Yuri whispers, voice cracking a pitch higher, “I’m fine, no more! WHY WON’T THEY STOP?!” Who was “they”?

It’s then that he pulls away from Yuuri, horrified at the dampness on his face. The expression he has, is dazed, as if it’s the first time he’s ever seen himself cry. Yuuri realises that it probably is, or at least the first time he registers the action and that so much has been bottled up for so long.

“Yura stop.” Yuuri says softly, only softly, his voice can be described as nothing else as he gently holds his wrists. The teen only tries to squirm out of Yuuri’s lap, red flushing his ears in embarrassment. He wants to leave, he wants his body to actually listen and get away. Whatever Yuuri’s saying, he doesn’t need it, doesn’t want it.  “Yura, stop it’s ok—“

“No! LET ME GO!” It’s a petulant plea, his sobs littering his cry as he shakes his head frantically, eyes squeezed shut and teeth bared tensely. “Please... let me go... I-I’m fine.” He tries again, weaker. The words he’s been trying to say are out, but they don’t have the affect he’d been hoping for.

Yuuri feels himself sniffling and blinks feverishly to keep his own pain away. Why is _he_ crying? Yuuri isn’t the one who messed up so why is he crying? And then Yuri remembers. He remembers now the word he’d been in search for, back when he’d first arrived at this foreign country, it’s the same word describing exactly how Yuuri was feeling; empathy or sympathy? Effect or affect? It’s sympathy.

“Yura, I could never let you go.” Yuuri whispers, and he pulls the boy back into his chest. There’s no hesitance on Yuri’s behalf, which becomes a crack in the facade the boy wears, allowing the truth to seep through and Yuuri to collect it and keep everything together as it falls apart. It doesn’t take long for the fragile outer casing of Yuri to completely shatter, and soon the boy is being cradled by the other again. “You’re not fine, you’re hurt, hurting, and I’m not letting you go until you feel safe and warm and loved.”

Yuuri can’t tell if he’s sobbing harder, but he knows that the sounds have grown more intense, need clinging to every nose Yuri emits. “You are loved Yuri. You are loved, so, so much. I love you, ok? Viktor loves you. If you aren’t sure about anyone else, then know that _we_ love you.”

He feels the embrace tighten as Yuri whispers softly, sniffling as pants of breath are squeezed from his lungs. “B-But WHY?!” He calls out, the last syllable dragging out into the pool of his sobs. “Stop loving me! Stop it!!!”

“No!” Yuuri protests, firmly guiding Yuri to look up. His eyes are warm and brown, shining with unshed tears. He wants Yuri to understand, he must understand, he _needs_ to understand, and Yuuri won’t back down until it is done. “I won’t stop that. Neither with Viktor. We. Love. You. Ok? We. Love. Yura. And we love Yura because Yura is the most sweetest and caring person in the whole world, and he deserves all the love and happiness and more.” Thumbs brush away the dampness as more follow the faded tracks. They don’t slow down, running like a silent stream, but Yuri’s verbal cries have dramatically decreased.

“Well maybe you’re blind.” he spits back, an averted scowl crossing his face. “Blind and stupid.”

“Yura, I promise I’m always going to love you.” Yuuri says, trying to catch the teen’s gaze, “For every hug you never received, for every kiss and every bit of love, I’ll give you it twice as much— no, even more. Viktor and I will make up for every bit of love you missed out on and then some.”

“I don’t want your love.” Yuri says bitterly, and he tries to struggle away from Yuuri again. Just how much pain was this boy in? And for just how long had he been bottling it up? Releasing it through angered shouts? Screaming for help right in front of them? Yuuri knows that he shouldn’t be crying, not when someone needs him so much, but he can’t help it and soon small tears slowly streak down his own cheeks.

“You’re running.” Yuuri whispers softly, tightening the hug, “Stop running away Yura, you can’t run forever.”

“I’m not running!” He defends, rubbing his eyes irritatingly. His throat constricts as his heart beats on. “I said I’m fine! I don’t need your stupid mushy shit! Go fuck off back to your stupid husband! I-I’m not some p-petty kid!”

He breaks again, like a freshly picked wound, and he slams his fists into Yuuri’s chest. It’s a tired punch, weak and deflated, as his back shudders with every breath and cry.

He’s crying for not someone, but something, and he’s _aching_.

Yuri concludes, amidst the jumble of his brain, that the reason he’s a mess is because of that stupid feeling, that stupid feeling he now knows is “love”. There’s nothing else that fits the description more perfectly than that four letter word and the throb in his chest and racing of his heart. He’s scared of it, he won’t admit it, and he decides he’d rather he conquered his fears alone.

Love? Who feared love? That’s something only deranged people say.

But Yuuri too, seems to pick up on this revelation, and gently allows Yuri to rest against him. He doesn’t understand the specifics of what’s so frightening, not _yet_ at least, with yet being the key word, so he continues to comfort, guiding Yuri’s body as his arms are draped across him, soothingly rubbing circles into his back and offering a reassuring pressure to his body. The blond teen stays slumped over, crying as tears dampen Yuuri’s shirt. The Japanese man hardly minds though, and he’s too busy humming coos of soothing melodies into his hair.

“Yura, it’s ok to be scared.” Yuuri begins, and he feels the younger’s breathing hitch. “Someone told me once that the reason we have fears, whether rational or irrational, are to protect ourselves from hurt.” He pauses a second time.

Yuri can feel his body’s shuddering slow down, and the beat of his heart grows weaker. His throat is still swallowing around a lump and his eyes are still spilling pain, but they’re more sporadic than a stream and he finds he can take a shaky breath a lot easier. He stays quiet for once, which is something that he finds he doesn’t do often.

“I’m hurt.” He whispers softly, into the shell of Yuuri’s ear. It’s faint, and almost non-existent, but all the same heard, somehow echoing far louder than originally said. “I’m hurting.” He mumbled again.

“I know.” Yuuri replies. “And I want to make it better.”

There’s a terse silence that falls over the room. Yuri’s tears still run, his hands still clench, and his heart is still booming within his chest. He’s tired, he’s been doing this for so long, and now, even if only temporary, he wants to forget about everything.

“Oh Yura.” Yuuri suddenly sighs quietly, placing the sweetest of kisses to his forehead. He doesn’t notice Yuri’s body go rigid at the contact, and continues to gently play with his hair. “I’m so glad we found you.”

It’s a stupid fear. He hates it. He wishes he’d never been conditioned into fearing something as important as love, to reject affection and to feel less of a person for trusting others. He truly wishes he’d never become this way.

It terrifies him.

So Yuri nods, pulling away gently from Yuuri as he looks into the other’s eyes. He feels dumb, like a child, but Yuri supposes that the definition of a child is only more accurate now than it was before with the way he’s being cradled by Yuuri. He oddly doesn’t want to leave the embrace but finds his brain reasoning him out. Was this conditioned thoughts speaking? Or Yuri speaking? Maybe it was both?

“I- I’m hurt.” He mumbles weakly, wiping stray tears as his voice cracks. Yuuri offers him a small, sad smile. “P-please help me.” He croons. It sounds younger and more hopeful. Perhaps he really was a child on the inside.

“Of course.” Yuuri hugs him, rocking them back and forth, as it drags familiarity back into the motion. It doesn’t feel any easier to admit aloud, in fact it feels stupid. But it does feel lighter, somewhere in his chest the buzzing and pounding has stopped and the gasping has slowed and the clenching has slackened. He feels small, which he supposes is fitting for the moment, but he also feels safe and protected; loved in Yuuri’s embrace.

So he allows himself to indulge this once, because Yuri Plisetsky is in fact, brave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I cry during writing this? Surprisingly not, although it's something that definitely hits close to home.  
> I suppose in this sense, Yuri is potentially OOC depending on how you look at it, to be fair though, I did transform his canon personality over time so I say this is more a character study?
> 
> I think it should also be noted that we've just scraped the surface of Yuri's fears, we've got a reason, not an explanation though, so more clarity WILL be provided!


	15. Growth and Trims for your State of Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But he’s thankful nonetheless.
> 
> They meet him halfway where he is.
> 
> “I— I have an idea.” Yuri suddenly speaks up, mood shifting as he hesitates to give Viktor a look.
> 
> “Okay? What kind of idea?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reconciliation between Viktor and Yuri, finally. There's obviously still a few things left unclear, but hopefully the puzzle's picture is pretty obvious by now. We're in the final stages of grief (Depression shifting to acceptance) and thus finally beginning the true road to recovery!
> 
> A bonus deleted scene is in the end note BTW!
> 
> ANYWAYS ENJOY!

Nothing good lasts forever, just as avoiding certain truths. The fact is, Yuuri can’t stay cooped up in a hotel room for the entire stay, and Viktor can’t hide with Otabek. Yuri can’t avoid talking either. But the hours slip by and no one notices, instead they wait for the sun to sink into the darkness of night and become swallowed by the moon’s glow before any of them decide to do something other than avoid the other pair.

Yuuri and Yuri had long ago gone silent, instead sitting on one of the beds in order to embrace the other in a hug. There was no real point in pushing himself away anymore, especially after all that had happened, so Yuri chooses to seek warmth rather than cold. Progress instead of regress. “I feel like shit.” He eventually mumbles.

“I’d imagine so.” Yuuri says lightly, a hand rubbing his arm gently. The movement only does so much to keep Yuri’s calm state, and before long, Yuuri is beginning the process of finding the conclusion to their temporary position. “Yuri, I know you don’t want to, but you need to talk to Viktor and Beka.” He uses the nickname carefully, observing the younger’s reaction.

“I don’t want to see either of them.” Yuri grumbles, pulling himself away.

“I know that. Trust me, I know.” Yuuri says, still so gentle despite the hesitance. “You don’t need to talk to Otabek right away, he’s worried, yes, and I’m sure there are things you both have to talk about, that can wait, but at least talk to Viktor. After the way he stormed off, it’d grant everyone some peace of mind, especially yourself.”

“How would you know what’s good for me?” Yuri spits, guiltily staring at his hands the moment he registers what he says. “Sorry.” He follows with, voice mumbled, “I just don’t want to talk to him.”  _It’s embarrassing_ he doesn’t say, but the idea seems to be communicated through his apprehension.

And yeah, opening up _is_ embarrassing. Especially for someone who’s used to putting on a bravado and claiming they’re strong on their own. Asking for help, _admitting_ that something isn’t right, that takes more effort than some people can imagine. Yuuri doesn’t think Viktor is one of those people though.

“How about this.” Yuuri offers. A compromise, a way for points to meet halfway; even if small, there’s a chance that things could take off on their own. “I’ll go downstairs to eat, get Viktor, Otabek and you some food, and while I’m down and delivering Otabek’s, you talk with Viktor.” The teen moves to shake his head, but Yuuri beats him to it. “It’ll only be 15, 20 minutes maximum. You can start a conversation. If you feel like continuing then Viktor can message me and I’ll wait with Otabek until you’re done. If not, we can eat and try again later.”

The correct response would be to at _least_ try, to open up just a little more and apologise to the other for his outlandish behaviour. The answer Yuri _wants_ to give, and Yuuri is expecting to hear is a firm “Fuck no”. 

The reply that he gets is a minute nods of his head.

“I’m proud Yura.” Yuuri says, smiling softly. He runs a hand through Yuri’s hair and pulls the last of the knots free. It still looks choppy but at least it’s lying flat. “I’ll message him on my way out now then, he’ll be here in a few.” There’s movement as he rises from the mattress, and suddenly Yuri feels incredibly small. What was he even going to _say_ to Viktor? How was he even meant to _start_?

“Sure, just tell him to hurry the fuck up.’ Yuri says, but there’s hardly any bite to his tone.

“Of course, of course.” Yuuri says, tugging his shoes on. He locates his phone, switching it on and begins typing with one hand, a small wave from the other as he leaves the room.

Yuri isn’t so stupid as to try running away again, so he waits patiently, somewhat nervously, judging by the insistent fidgeting of his hands, and then he hears soft, muffled voices outside his door. He doesn’t need to check to see that it’s the power couple exchanging words. With an inward sigh, Yuri flops backwards onto the bed, heart palpitating. He burps, releasing the nausea in his stomach and sighs, somewhat relieved that the sickness goes.

The door to the room beeps, footsteps fade away and the door handle twists with a click. 

Well, this moment arrived a lot sooner than Yuri had prepared for.

The footsteps sound hesitant, but he eventually appears from the doorway, standing to a still at the room’s entrance. It is most certainly awkward, it’s most certainly uncomfortable, and yet neither can tear their eyes away from the other.

It’s almost like a game, to see which of the two would speak up first, but Yuri is tired of games, and he doesn’t want to spend 20 minutes staring in silence, so he sighs and talks, to the surprise of the older Russian in front of him.

“So, you were with Be— Otabek.” Yuri says. It’s not exactly about him or what’s going on, but it’s a start to the notation of talking.

“Yea.” Viktor says, feet slowly inching him further into the room. He doesn’t sit at the opposite bed from Yuri, he instead sits at the foot of the same bed he is occupying, the opposite end from himself. “Yuuri said you um, wanted to talk?”

Well, _technically_ Yuuri had said that he should talk; he still wanted to consider this against his free will, but the question was an invitation to more, so he figures he may as well get over it.

“I’m sorry.” He says flatly, finally looking away. It feels heavier than he’d thought it would, the tested words resting in his mouth. “About before.” He amends, chancing a glance upwards.

The look on Viktor’s face is unreadable, which is downright terrifying in this instance. He stares, mouth unmoving and blank expression permanently etched into his face. It’s almost as if he were the perfect porcelain doll. He feels his grip slipping away. Viktor is _waiting_ for him to continue. But to continue what? The apology? An explanation? Yuri doesn’t feel like going into the details.

“I don’t know what else to say to you.” He begins. It’s truthful at least, and stirs a reaction out of Viktor who blinks in surprise, “Th-there’s… I’m not… To be honest…” He stumbles, fumbles and silences himself, red creeping up his neck as he clears his throat.

“Take your time.” Viktor nods, expression relaxing into something almost discernible. Yuri nods.

“I don’t know what’s wrong… well I do, there’s a lot of things wrong, more than what you probably already know… I don’t feel like going into it all tonight… but I’m not… doing so good at coping.” His breath falls like a rush, and _finally_ the heaviness has faded. “I’m not good at this thing and it doesn’t feel nice to openly talk about it.”

Viktor nods, fingers tapping against his knee. Neither say anything for a while.

“Thank you for telling me then.” He chooses to say, distantly staring at their luggage propped up against the wall. Yuri’s had been transported there after picking it up at the bar, and the leopard print lay ever so noisily beside the other that belonged to Yuuri and Viktor.

Yuri swallows as Viktor continues, shoulders somehow relaxing as he goes. “It’s not easy, no.” Viktor shakes his head. “I was _so_ worried about you… I guess in that regards I’m also pretty shit at coping.” A low chuckle follows the whisper of words. “We don’t have to talk about everything tonight, right now I’m just glad you’re talking to me.”

“Can’t say the same for…”

“Otabek?” Viktor finishes. Yuri looks up questioningly. “We had a small chat… I won’t speak for him, but I think he blames himself for how you feel. When you’re both ready you can talk it out, tell him what you told me that it’s many things and not just the one… but until then, can you make a promise to me?”

Yuri nods.

“If you feel… _wrong_ , or unsure, I want you to speak up to Yuuri and me, okay?”

There’s a new odd pressure in Yuri’s chest as he steers his breathing into something of which is control. “Okay.” He manages out, biting his lip. He wants to ask questions, he wants to know what Viktor had meant by _both_ of them. As far as he’d known, Otabek was wanting to talk more than he did.

Viktor seems to pick up on the cues, leading him to sigh and flop back on the bed, head resting beside Yuri as he turns to stare. There’s no move to suggest he’s uncomfortable, and Yuri is surprised to find that he doesn’t really mind either, and so Viktor answers the unasked question. “He needs some time.” Viktor begins, “He told me to tell you that he needs at least today and tomorrow to process his own thoughts. He doesn’t hate you.” Viktor adds, sensing the tension in the blonde. “Besides, I don’t think you’re ready yourself either… right?”

“Yeah.” Yuri breaths, a hand raking at his hair in irritation. Viktor frowns, sitting up, this time much closer to Yuri than he’d been before. He observes the movements before gently pulling Yuri’s hand away from his hair.

“Did you do this to yourself?” Viktor asks, fingers gently parting his locks. Yuri feebly nods his head. “We can fix it now if you like, I have scissors in the suitcase.”

Yuri turns to look at him incredulously. “What the fuck, why?”

Viktor smiles, and god does it make Yuri want to smile too, a genuine one as Viktor shrugs. It feels as if things had truly shifted back to how they once were if only for just a minute, and the man winks before making way to retrieve said item. “You never know Yura!” He says, digging through the mess of the suitcase’s contents. “Come, I’ll play hairdresser.”

“Don’t you mean barber?” Yuri raises an eyebrow.

“No, I want to be a hairdresser, let me have this.” Viktor insists, beckoning Yuri towards the bathroom. He complies, somewhat hesitant as he’s not entirely sure why Viktor has a pair of scissors and clipper set when he doesn’t even _need_ them. Then he thinks of Yuuri and supposes they’re for him. The residue black hairs that are wiped off from the blades prove his theory.

“So Yuri, what kind of look do you want? Just trim and fix the ends? Mohawk? Yakov would love that… completely bald?”

“You make me bald and I’ll make you match.” Yuri threatens, but the words are more playful than anything. “Not that there’s much left to do.” Viktor feigns hurt. “Okay just… trim.” Yuri shrugs. They couldn’t go wrong with trimming.

So Viktor smiles and gets to work, almost as if their previous conversation had been forgotten, brushing hair gently and snipping the ends barely by an inch. He relaxes in his seat at the bathtub, letting Viktor hum as he snips.

It’s strangely domestic, in the ways of which friends could possibly be. And somehow, Yuri finds he doesn’t mind this as much as he knew he would have months ago. He realises now that this had probably been Yuuri’s intention all along, for them to at least grow comfortable around each other again. He didn’t want to admit it but the Japanese man had been absolutely correct.

Another snip and he watches as the tub fills slightly with the smaller bits of fluff and hair. There’s no mirror in front of them, so he can only put his trust into Viktor which honestly sounds like a terrible idea now that he’s thinking about it. Ah well, anything is probably better than what he has now.

And yet, he still feels incomplete. Like the small opening to a bigger conversation had been stunted before it could have truly concluded. Yuri feels as though there’s something more he should say.

_But what_?

“I think we’re almost done here.” Viktor eventually says, a comb running through his work. The ends most certainly look cleaner, no longer like they’d been torn with craft scissors, and his appearance was once more the youthful look he’d sported at 15.

Yuri still doesn’t feel right but he can’t pinpoint why.

“Thanks.” He quietly says, hoping the other can hear the true appreciation in his voice. Viktor pauses his work to place the scissors down as hesitant arms wrap around Yuri into a hug. The squeeze is a nice pressure, grounding and cosy. If he had been hugged like this before, he thinks he would have tried to punch Viktor, but now all he can do is lean back into the embrace.

He finds he wants to blame his tiredness for everything and the emotional toll it’s all taken, but he knows that it simply isn’t true.

“Any time Yura.” Viktor mumbles, and then his presence is gone as he makes way to fix the final strands.

The repeated snip of the scissors and gentle tickle from fallen hair eventually become something of a background process, letting Yuri focus instead on what he’s trying to communicate into words. He’s unusually open and honest for someone who spent a long time running away. It’s part of breaking his bad habit of avoidance he supposes.

And then he speaks, without really registering what he says, but it’s enough to satiate the weird restlessness in his stomach. “Family, Otabek… you and Yuuri… closeness in general I suppose.” He vomits bits and pieces of words and thoughts, hoping that it holds to something tangible. There’s only a few things that each of the subjects have in correlation with the others, but their strings are what pulls Yuri upwards. He swallows. “They don’t scare me. I’m fine with all that.” He rectifies, correcting his meaning, “But there are things that… I don’t know how to explain it… It’s not the individual it’s more so… side effects? No… I just— ugh! I don’t—“

“I understand.” Viktor offers gently, wiping the blades of the scissors along one of the hotel towels dangling precariously off of the hanger. “Don’t force yourself to say everything now if you don’t want to, I understand what you’re trying to say.”

Yuri waits for Viktor to continue before turning around to view the bathroom mirror. He looks _familiar_.

“Yea?” He asks, chewing his bottom lip.

“We’re all related in some way.” Viktor explains, as if he were the one who was Yuri. “There’s something there from everything you said, that sparks that same feeling that’s got you unsettled… or did I read that wrong?”

“No.” Yuri immediately answers. “Not wrong at all.”

It’s not the complete answer, but it’s the beginning, and Viktor can only smile knowing that _finally_ , progress has been made. There’s something there that most certainly had been bottled up within Yuri; emotions and feelings he’d otherwise thought foolish enough to share. Whatever those emotions were, bits and pieces had come from Viktor, from Yuuri, from the idea of closeness, from Yuri’s own family, and it was safe enough to say that by the time Otabek had made his unknowing contribution, the bottle had burst full.

There’s no way Yuri can possibly explain that in words, he still doesn’t even know the definition of English metaphors and similes. The only puzzle piece truly left to find were the feelings he’d had and an outlet he’d need. And still, he wishes he could explain himself, not needing someone to make guesses on behalf of his clues.

But he’s thankful nonetheless.

They meet him halfway where he is.

“I— I have an idea.” Yuri suddenly speaks up, mood shifting as he hesitates to give Viktor a look.

“Okay? What kind of idea?” The scissors and hair clippers are packed snuggly into their containers.

“A new haircut kind of idea.” Yuri decides confidently, “Will you help me?”

There’s not even a second’s hesitation.

“Sure.” Viktor says, and the clippers come free.

 

* * *

 

 

He sighs against the door and checks his phone anxiously. There are no incoming messages that would suggest the need of more time. Yuuri sighs as he balances the take away containers in the plastic bag, a hand digging into his back pocket for the hotel key card as he eyes the door. He can’t hear yelling, nor does there seem to have been any objection. He hopes that the use of privacy has been considered at least.

He also hopes that Viktor had taken heed of his warning outside the hotel door. He knows that he’s mad, upset and concerned, but that could only do so much to help the situation. For all Yuuri knows, there’s the remnants of a war within the hotel room and he doesn’t want to wait anymore to find out.

The door beeps, electronic lock clicking and he grabs the handle, turning it down until it juts and the door loosens from its hold. Cool air meets him, the tell-tale sign of Russians who were still not acclimatised to such warm weathers.

“Hey Katsudon, hurry and bring the food, we’re starving!” Yuri shouts, voice sounding ever so normal.

Yuuri doesn’t hesitate to follow the small hallway into the opening of the room, meeting sight with the TV which had resumed playing the movie they’d left on from before. It was starting again from the beginning, and judging by the blanket fort consuming the two queen beds that had been pushed together, the two of them had been grossly involved with the screen.

“I’m guessing you both had a talk then.” He smiles softly, relieved that they’d taken his advice.

“Mmm.” Yuri hums, face mostly obscured by the blankets. Yuuri could just make out the shapes of Viktor and Yuri’s bodies, guessing that the younger had draped himself comfortably across his husband. He can feel the slight tension and worry in Yuri’s voice, probably knowing that this wasn’t something people usually saw from him.

Yuuri choses to feign ignorance over it. It’s not a big deal, there’s no need to make him feel self-conscious. “Are you both in there?” Yuuri asks, placing the bags down onto the small hotel desk. Viktor’s head pops up from the cocoon.

“Join us!” Viktor grins, nudging the teen to move over and Yuri wriggles free from the blankets immediately. It’s strange to see such motivation and such acceptance to something so domestic, but once again, Yuuri comments on nothing, hoping that Yuri at least knew there was nothing to feel embarrassed about.

Everyone changed after all, no one could possibly stay the same.

Yuuri climbs into the mountain of blankets and leans over to grab their food, passing out the various boxes to the other two. He sees the new haircut and smiles, running a hand through the longer part of his fringe. It was a rather impressive pixie cut, something oddly feminine portrayed in a way that was androgynous, highlighting the shape of Yuri’s face.

“Did you do that Viktor?” Yuuri realises, pausing his eating. Yuri’s face tints red.

“I did! Aren’t I good? I could become a hairdresser Yuuri! I should open up my own business!” Comes the enthusiastic reply. Yuuri doesn’t answer, instead he ruffles the now much shorter hair affectionately.

“Hey! Quit it Katsudon, I’ll spill my food!” Yuri snaps, dodging the gesture quickly. There’s a sense of amusement laced into the dialogue, but neither Viktor nor Yuuri make a comment.

They return their attention to the screen slabbed onto the wall, the movie continuing to play in the background. It was different, but it also felt nice. Content. Obviously things weren’t perfect. There were still many things to discuss and people to talk to and he doubts that such thing as perfection could ever be achieved.

 But they’d be okay. Yuri knows it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed that the chapters have started to become shorter - the main chapters in the middle were the most content heavy and therefore had a need for more, however now that the main problem has been resolved, we're slowing down to the finale!
> 
> After this chapter, we only have 5 more to go!
> 
> Fun fact: I had originally made it so that Yuri was in a much darker head space and Viktor had been the one to find him after he'd run away. Needless to say, it had been way too dark for the audience of this stroy. Here's an excerpt I suppose, it's emotionally heavy, I only selected bits and pieces:
> 
> \---The pale man throws his entire weight onto the thick wood, uncaring as to if the door were part of a hotel, he’d pay for any damages to property — he couldn’t do the same for the boy on the other side. He throws his side into it again, and clenches his teeth fiercely as another bruise embeds itself into his flesh. He doesn’t care, he needs to open the door, he needs to get to Yuri now.
> 
> He hears the sickening snap of something breaking, along with the most excruciating pain in the world as he feels the bolt break and allow for gravity to pull him through. He isn’t sure when he’d broken something, weather on impact or after his thigh landed on the obnoxiously large door handle and chain, but he’s sure that he can’t use his leg at all.
> 
> But Viktor’s already limping into the room, resisting any protest his body has given him in order to find where Yuri is located. He twists his head, hands pushing aside doors in a frantic rush, as he silently progresses into the room. He wants to yell out Yuri’s name but is far too scared to not get a reply.
> 
> He grips the side of the bed laid out neatly in the middle of the room, pushing himself to the last place he’s yet to check; the balcony. The boy is on the floor, and to anyone else, perhaps he’d been enjoying the warmer breeze, appreciating the harbour view that was splayed out in front of him. He looked almost at peace, disheveled and broken, and Viktor could only allow his weight to finally crumple and leave him sitting on the floor beside the teen.
> 
> “Yuri! Oh my god Yuri!” Viktor mumbled, hands instantly on the other’s shoulders. Like a knee jerking reaction, he’s alive and animated, blinking and twitching in an attempt to break free of the tight grip. “YURI! You’re here, you’re ok, you’re not dead, oh my god thank you!” He drags in another breath, free hand reaching to squeeze frozen fingers. “Please Yuri, please.” He brings Yuri into his lap, letting his body scream some more for jostling his leg, and then he rocks them, more tears falling as he whispers into Yuri’s hair. 
> 
> “I found you, I found you, I love you, I found you, you’re safe Yura, it’s going to be ok… I- I-... please! Say something!”
> 
> Yuri blinks, ears ringing with more pleads and more declarations of love, assaulting his heart in a way almost unforgivingly. “I got a haircut.” He says, and Viktor’s eyes widen as Yuri pulls away from the embrace with new found strength. He doesn’t separate any further than an arms distance, holding himself up against broader shoulders as he meets the pained gaze. 
> 
> There’s no emotion in his eyes, or face for that matter, it’s void of the usual sneer and determination, and that along with the heavy bags, redness and tattered tresses, makes Yuri look wild. “Do you like it Viktor? I did it myself.” 
> 
> Within seconds, his leg cracks loudly, blood spurting as it paints the floor red. There’s a steady stream, pulsing to the tune of his racing heart and it’s a brighter pink than any blood that he’s seen before - an artery. Viktor screams in agony, but it’s not for the broken bone that has now pierced through his skin, it’s for his son who’d crumpled on the ground, motionless and unstill, and surrounded by red.
> 
> There’s a shocked gasps as he registers that the newcomers have found them, and immediately there’s people moving and assisting them both.
> 
> “Sir,” Someone calls out, a uniform dressing their body, “Sir can you hear me?” He turns his head to nod, eyeing Yuuri kneeling beside Yuri. His face goes pale as his eyes connect with Viktor, and tears brim his eyes as he gently squeezes Yuri’s shoulder. 
> 
> “Yura, can you hear? Me? Open your eyes? Yura?”
> 
> There isn’t a response and Viktor feels his heart drop into his stomach. Was he too late? Did he fail? Was Yura… ---
> 
>  
> 
> \---Yuuri allows himself to observe Yuri in the stretcher, tired but most definitely awake.
> 
> He runs a hand through Yuri’s torn locks, a watery smile forced back as Yuri averts eye contact. They both know what he’d tried to do, and they both knew they’d have to talk about it eventually, but for now it remains a secret and a lie.
> 
> “Whose blood was that?” Yuri asks, but he doesn’t receive an answer, and he doesn’t realise who’s absent from the scene.---
> 
> (This story is not Beta Read)


	16. English Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m scared.” He says aloud, brain vocalising the supressed words. He starts to wonder how many times he’s repeatedly said the same thing, and just how many more times he’d say them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I love my english proverbs and stuffs - and Yuri is definitely gonna take some time to completely accept everything but I figured it'd be nice to show the progressive side of things.
> 
> Obviously some things can't be fixed so quickly but I feel as though Yuri's stubborn personality would try really hard to push away the bad, move onto the good and still open up so that the bad isn't too bad?

The breakfast table is large enough to seat twelve, but only three spots are taken, leaving the rest vacant and as empty as Yuri feels. They aren’t even spaced out, creating the illusion that there’s no more space for others; they’re gathered at the end, like a lonely, lost family. It’s silent among them, such a grand dining hall and yet such a disaster of a moment, or so Yuri believes. No one comes to disturb them, leaving them to eat their meal in peace. It’s a peace that the boy would otherwise relish in, but for now he finds agitating.

Otabek hadn’t left his room since Yuri had reunited with everyone in the most terrible of ways, and despite being reassured that the Kazakh skater merely needed time, it did nothing to aid the worry. Was this how Yuuri constantly felt? How could he concentrate with all the buzzing and unsettling churning within his body? He tries to not think too hard on the matter, instead forcing himself to focus on the much calmer evening yesterday had brought. He runs a hand through his new haircut – a good decision for once on his behalf.

“This food is rather good.” Viktor says slowly, easing the tension among them. It’s not as awkward as one would imagine, seeing as the comment doesn’t appear to be forced through his teeth, and thankfully, the other Russian’s skill for charming even the dullest of lights seems to be working its magic.

“Kinda looks weird.” Yuri says, voice soft. He eyes his own food, questioningly tilting his head to the side as if the different viewpoint would assist in deciphering the mess.

Yuuri laughs lightly at the comment, poking at his own, unrecognizable plate of edibles, a fork twisting the food and pushing it around experimentally. “I suppose it’s custom here.”

They eat in silence again, and it’s only a matter of time before Yuri realises he’s bottling up unsaid things again. He doesn’t like the pressure, but he doesn’t want to say anything. He isn’t a fool, he doesn’t want to be a burden. What are the chances that Viktor and Yuuri simply wouldn’t understand anything despite everything he’d been promised?

Well, they were still here right? Out of pity? Duty of care?

“I’m scared.” He says aloud, brain vocalising the supressed words. He starts to wonder how many times he’s repeatedly said the same thing, and just how many more times he’d say them. The two others occupying the table don’t appear frustrated or impatient, and instead Yuuri and Viktor slow their eating of food, swallowing what’s left in their mouths before lowering their utensils. They’re listening intently, gentle smiles on their faces.

“What’s scaring you?” Viktor asks. The question is left in the air, to be what it simply is and nothing more. Yuri feels appreciation for the fact that it’s said so straightforward. They aren’t treating him like a child, they view him as an equal and the restoration in power balance feels like an odd welcoming.

“I don’t…” Yuri begins, almost lost. “Beka— Otabek… he said stuff that scared… he said… when I first went to see him, he told me that… well… it’s stupid to be scared of it but—“

“Yura, _why_ are you scared?” Yuuri asks softly, clarifying the concern as his hands lace together. It’s implied that they know what’s happened, and it’s implied that Otabek has told them everything or at least parts of it. Yuri only hopes no one else knows how foolish he’s been and feels. His eyes widen as he stares at the Japanese man. Foolish? Perhaps he really was a child.

With a deep breath, Yuri vigorously shakes his head, as if the movement could eradicate any discomfort or uncertainty. “Why??” His gaze locks onto blue eyes, almost pleading for an answer he’s not so sure that Viktor will have, “Why does he… I don’t… and you guys are just so…” He sucks in a breath, eyes averted and cheeks flushed. Even when determined, he’s lost his usual ability to intimidate and it’s obvious to see that he feels pathetic for it. “H-he said he likes me… like _that_ way… and it’s not that I don’t… but then you said you… like me too— in that _other_ way and I just… why?!”

Viktor and Yuuri exchange a look between them, brows furrowed as they try to understand. “Why what? Why do we love you?” Viktor asks.

The silence speaks louder than the muffled garble of words. He nods, shakily exhaling as he fiddles with the cutlery. “Something so good isn’t made to last.” He mutters, “I’m not supposed to have that, no matter how much I may want it. At least… well that’s how family _says_ it goes...”

“You’re grandfather certainly didn’t think that.” It’s a sore subject Yuuri knows not to push, so he leaves the comment as is before moving on, “And, Viktor and I… well, we consider you a part of our family. You’re a very important part of it.”

They watch as the blond boy’s demeanour turns sour, as if the thought were something too painful to bare. “Too bad it isn’t legit.” Yuri grumbles, “As she always said — blood is thicker than water.”

“She?” Viktor pauses, “You mean..?”

“ _Da_. Who else? You met her, the bitch may have been… a bitch, but she wasn’t wrong.” There’s resentment behind his words as he speaks of someone unbeknownst to Yuuri. He doesn’t know what or who the pair are talking about, left to fill out the gaps based off the knowledge he’d gained knowing Yuri. During his time living in Russia, there wasn’t a single person that came to mind who could give reason for Yuri to have true malicious hatred towards. In the past, most of his harsh words were that of banter and inconsequential, but right now it’s clear that there’s a mysterious _she_ who Yuri believes strong opinions of considerably.

Yuuri decides that the mysterious ‘She’ is irrelevant. Clearly, Yuri hasn’t seen her in a long time, and he’s rather doubtful that he would ever want to. He could deduct through logic that this woman was clearly blood bound, and dare guess she be a mother or sibling, but Yuuri pauses before he can consider the truth any more. That’s not his story to tell and he has more important things to attend to.

“Yura.” Yuuri says, this time more determined than he’d been minutes ago. If anything was going to come out of this discussion, it was going to be setting the record straight. “Look at me please when I say this.”

The blond teen reluctantly follows, and gosh, staring back into familiar brown eyes is far harder to do than offer a glare or sneer. Yuri feel’s his own eyes prickle with an uncomfortable burn, but he doesn’t let up the gaze.

“Whatever anyone, anything, anywhere has done or said, they’re clearly poorly misinformed.” Yuuri begins, hands reaching for the teen’s own as he grabs them tightly. The small touch is a comfort and welcomed as Yuri feels his own hand instinctively close around the other. “You deserve love, you deserve family, you deserve everything that you’re given. It’s not easy to accept so much, but you’re allowed to take even a little.”

His fingers are squeezed tightly as Viktor nods along, the older skater’s hands also gripping at his hands. “Love is not free” Yuuri whispers, “It’s rather costly. We put in as much as we’re willing to spend, even if it may make us bankrupt. In order to give, you have to take, and for so long all you’ve done is give. You give and you give and you give, until there’s no more love left. You can’t do anything if you’re bankrupt, Yura.”

No, you can’t do anything if you’re bankrupt, he’s well aware of this fact after a quite literal experience with his account being temporarily frozen by who he learns later as the skaters before him. It’s definitely not easy being broke – but in terms of affection and family?

Well it was certainly an interesting take on things.

It’s rare to ever hear love being compared to money, he’s always been told that it’s the priceless gift from god. But now? Now he’s not so sure, and the fear of such a powerful emotion starts to make sense.

He’s terrified of love, he’s got no more love to give, and if he were to let someone else in, it’s another debt he knows he can’t pay.

“But it works both ways.” Viktor says slowly, “You’ve been giving your love to the wrong people, people who say are your family but have never lived up to that tittle. Family, friends, lovers, people that _do_ love you, will make sure that while you give, you receive, and that the acceptance of such thing is deserved.”

“Blood is thicker than water.” Yuri says weakly, as if trying to prove a point. Why does he want to hold onto such beliefs? Why must he feel the need to prove that his thinking is well reasoned? Maybe it’s because he knows they’re right, and that if he even accepts this small truth, his very reality and moral that he’d been living by would have been all for completely nothing.

“That’s true.” Yuuri agrees, and Yuri looks up in surprise; he doesn’t expect for his logic to be agreed with. “Blood most certainly is thicker than water… although maple syrup is definitely thicker than blood… so by that account are you accepting your friendship with JJ?” Yuuri’s tone of voice lifts airily towards the end of the question as a smile escapes from his features.

Yuri splutters at the joke as Viktor softly laughs, followed along with Yuuri. He doesn’t want to smile in such a sombre mood, but finds the corners of his mouth lifting up anyway, ignoring his silent plea to act serious. He snorts and the release of air from his lungs feels like a weight has finally left his shoulders.

“JJ?! Ew! No!” He grins, shovelling food into his mouth. It’d gone cold after being abandoned on his plate but it doesn’t matter, he’s too busy realising just how incredibly quickly laughter fixes everything. “What does maple syrup have to do with him anyway?”

“He’s Canadian.” Viktor deadpans, as if surprised by the teen’s lack of trivia, “Maple syrup is associated with Canada?”

“Well that just ruins pancakes.” Yuri sighs dramatically, and Yuuri rolls his eyes at his antics.

“You’re really like Viktor you know that?” Yuuri jokes, “Like father like son.”

“I’m not your son!” Yuri protests, but his argument falls on deaf ears as Viktor ruffles his hair playfully. “Hey quit it!”

“Son, husband, stop.” Yuuri commands, and all is silent until another burst of laughter echoes among the empty dining room.

“Seriously, I’m not your son.” Yuri scolds, arms folded at his chest. It takes a moment for the two adults to calm down, but when they do, the implications of family cross their minds and surprisingly, it’s Viktor who’s first to see the underlying problem.

His blue eyes widen in adjacent to horror. “Oh, well, if you really don’t want to be a part of our family then you’re not forced to… it was just a—“

“No.” Yuri cuts in, and this time he meets blue eyes in a staring contest, “I just… no matter which way...I can’t be in your family… we aren’t… you guys aren’t actually my… my surname isn’t…” He cuts himself off.

“Blood of the covenant is thicker than water of the womb.” Yuuri offers, smiling at the boy’s confusion. “That’s the complete proverb. Most don’t know it but it actually means that the bonds we chose to form are often stronger than the ones we are born into.”

Yuri blinks slowly. “Complete proverb?”

“Oh yes! Like the early bird catches the worm!” Viktor bubbly agrees, “It means that an early riser tends to find success, but the complete proverb has an additional verse; but the second mouse gets the cheese.”

“Or great minds think alike.” Yuuri offers with a nod, “But fools rarely differ.”

“Rome wasn’t built in a day, but it burnt down in one!” Comes Viktor’s reply.

“Jack of all trades, master of none—“

“—Is better than master one!”

Yuri sits there, eyes wide and mouth agape. He wants to ask how they’d had time to study English proverbs, let alone work around the troubles of translation error but he’s too busy wondering if a whole new world had been opened to his eyes. And perhaps, through linguistics of English proverbs, it really has.

“So you see? We’re always taught something, but never the bigger picture.” Yuuri concludes, a fond smile on his lips, “You’ll always be a part of our family, blood of covenant be thicker than water of womb, and I promise you that you’ll never have to doubt that ever. So I suppose the only question left here is, well, what about you?”

He doesn’t register the fact that he’s crying until the tears begin to roll down his face in fat, messy globs. Family is still such a strange concept, similarly to ‘Agape’, he’s still learning about the different forms love likes to dress up in.  The kind he’s being offered is one that he isn’t so sure he completely understands, but how can he refuse their hands while he’s knocked down on the ice?

He chuckles lowly, pushing past the slight gasps and sobs as he rolls his reddened eyes with the most nonchalance he can muster. He still needs to look presentable alright?

“Ok.” He whispers softly, trying his best to not be heard. It feels foreign on his tongue, something he’s not used to admitting, but continues on quietly anyway.  “Family and love… sounds nice.” The two in front of him do hear regardless, and in Viktor’s case begins to cry from pure emotion. Yuri recoils in a show of disgust and warily glances at Yuuri. Surprisingly, he’s not caught up in emotions as expected like his other half.

“Mom, I think dad is broken.” Yuri jokes, and he wants to make a snide comment on how he really didn’t say much for Yuuri to now also be crying, but he knows he can’t. That’d just be plain unfair and Yuri is definitely no hypocrite anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOAAHHH WE'RE HALFWAY THEREEEEE WOOAAHHHH we actually are over half way but ya know what I mean.  
> More talking because these people need to talk!


	17. How to Figure Skate for Dummies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s not something you should be thanking me for…” Yuri says, stalling despite knowing he’s nervous. The Ice Tiger of Russia is nervous!“ Of all people, you deserve an explanation after I idiotically walk out on you after you confess that—“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAY ANOTHER UPDATE! 
> 
> We're drawing to a close to obviously the chapters are starting to become shorter, I know, very sad, but exciting all the same!
> 
> Also I just saw "天気の子" (Tenki No Ko) ('Weathering with You') in cinema and holy fucking shit I love the musical soundtrack?! I know there's a lot of criticism especially because it's being compared to "Kimi No Na Wa" ('Your Name') but I mean, it shouldn't really have to face that bias - It is it's own movie in it's own way. Just as you wouldn't want to be compared to a sibling because you're made by the same person, a move doesn't want to have to live up to it's predecessor. 
> 
> Am I getting to overly semantic towards movies? Yeah... I need a better hobby clearly... I STILL RECOMMEND WATCHING IT!!!

It’s been eating at him since the moment it had happened, and Yuri had felt only guiltier that he’d forgotten it among the wreckage of what had happened the past few days. He so desperately wants to say something, correct his mistake — perhaps open up and accept the love he’d been given too, now that he considered himself a love accepting pro.

He doesn’t know where to begin. “I’m gonna fail. He hates me, I’d hate me — what am I saying I hate myself for everything I did… I’m gonna fall and then die from the fall.” He mutters, dejectedly sandwiched between Viktor and Yuuri. Their gentle hug did nothing to alleviate the pressure however, and it really showed how distressed he was when he didn’t push away from their comfort.

“You both just need to talk.” Yuuri points out. “He’ll understand, he’s still here for a reason.”

“I’m just gonna screw up. I’m gonna mess up and make it all worse.” He half expected the generic disagreement that he was in fact, going to do alright, but instead what he was told was something much more different.

“Probably.” Viktor shrugs, as if it made no difference. Yuri pulls away immediately and turns to stare in bewilderment, as if _that_ was going to help him. “Don’t look at me like that, let me explain.”

“Yeah that makes me feel better.” Yuri scoffs, clinging closer to Yuuri, “Mom’s the new favourite, fuck you dad.”

All in jest, Viktor laughs, pretending to appear upset. “As hurt as I am by your cruel, cruel jokes Yura, remind me of the first thing we learn in figure skating.”

Now? Figure skating at a dire time like this? Yuri stares in confusion before seeking answers from Yuuri. The Japanese skater offers no help and instead wears an identical look of questioning across his own face. “What?”

“Humour me.” Viktor prompts, “I promise it’s relevant.”

Yuri rolls his eyes before folding his arms across his chest, judgmentally staring at the man opposite him. “How to fall correctly so we don’t do something stupid and chop our own fucking fingers off.”

“Exactly! Or… I guess with a little less of the swearing but still — the first thing we learn isn’t how to jump but to fall, and once we learn how to fall, we learn how to get up.” Viktor explains, a hand waving as if to prompt the explanation. “You’re not going to be spot on perfect Yuri, your fight with Otabek was the fall, and we all know how clumsy the first time we try to stand up can be. Accept the extra hand up and _then_ you can skate.”

Yuri decides that skating metaphors are inherently stupid and make almost no sense — except for this one time where they do and so he shall, for the first time in what he believes forever, listen. Viktor recognises Yuri’s moment of understanding and signifies this with a nod, patting him gently on the back.

“I suppose I should just go and do it then huh?” Yuri sighs, albeit nervously. Yuuri squeezes his shoulders in response.

“You’ll be fine. Ganba!” He says warmly, pushing Yuri towards the door, “Ganba Yuri, Davai!”

 

* * *

 

 

He waits for approximately 2 minutes before he feels like his legs have grown stiff from standing around. He swears it’s been hours, and he wants to check his phone for proof, but he doesn’t have the guts too, scared any movement he makes will make a sound and alert the Kazakh inside.

He sneezes, cringing at the rapid fire gushing from his mouth, cringing with every single sound. So much for not making a noise – he can only hope that Otabek doesn’t somehow recognise him from a _sneeze_ and open the—

“Yuri.”

Well. Fuck.

“Otabek.” Yuri responds similarly, arm wiping his nose clumsily as he straightens his back. He’s nervous but he’ll be damned if he lets that show through his face. He isn’t going to lose his cool, he’s going to _be_ cool. He’s going to smarten up and actually speak. “Can we talk?” he squeaks, cursing the useless pep talk. Otabek sighs, biting his lip, and for a moment, Yuri internally freaks out, convinced that Otabek truly would turn him down with a slam of the door to his face. He wouldn’t blame him for the harsh reaction.

“Sure.” He says after a minute, stepping aside slightly allowing the door to widen further as to let the blond enter. Yuri blinks cautiously, stepping inside as he eyes the other, waiting expectantly for the yelling to begin. It doesn’t. “How is your ankle?”

Ankle? What ank— _ohhhh._ “It’s… good. I forgot it was sprained actually…” Yuri admits sheepishly, staring down at the bandages. It had become an almost automatic function, to wrap and rewrap it every morning and night. So much so he didn’t even notice. Perhaps he could take it off soon.

“That’s good.” Otabek nods, making way to sit at the sofa chair in the room. Yuri follows him, slowly moving to sit opposite him on the twin sized bed. He doesn’t know how or where to start, only that he _should_. Thankfully, Otabek seems to already be a step ahead of him. “I was worried… As impressive of a feat your demonstrated parkour skills were… I just…” He cuts himself off, alluding to everything and nothing at the same time.

Yuri nods feebly, awkwardly kicking his feet against the foot of the bed. _What was he waiting for exactly? Otabek was here! He’s listening! Talk! Speak! Explain your idiotic tendencies!_ “And you?” He wants to slap himself for the almost stupid question – almost because while it is very stupid, it starts the beginning of the new conversation.

“I’m… fine…” The Kazakh admits, “Confused perhaps… but I’m alright.”

“I’m sorry.” Yuri blurts, before his mouth can contain it.

Otabek and he share a silence, steady consideration as they observe one another from where they sit. “Me too.” Otabek finally says.

“W-wait what?” Yuri blinks, cocking his head in confusion. “Why would you be sorry?” The guilty look on his friend’s face tells him more than the sudden display of struggle to find the proper words. “Stop being an idiot.” Yuri cuts the squabbling, “You saying… stuff… wasn’t the problem.”

“Okay then…” comes the disbelieving reply, “Will you better explain it? If you can?”

Yuri sighs tiredly, nodding again. “I’m shit at handling myself sometimes.” He begins, almost expecting an obvious ‘ _tell me something I don’t know’_ look. When he doesn’t get one, and instead receives patience, he feels his shoulders relaxing into a slump as he fiddles with his fingers. “There’s so much that I _used_ to think, and that stuff just… exploded… I don’t exactly know how to explain it but something like that metaphor Katsudon used… uh… shit I _hate_ English – bottle overfull?” He hopes Otabek understands.

“You mean… bottling it all up until the cork pops off?” _Thank god_.

“Yea…”

“And my confession—”

“Yep…”

“—was the cork…”

“Uh huh…”

“…popping off.”

“Yes.” Yuri says definitely, he does not want his message to be confused. Otabek hums in thought, lip bitten and bleeding as he thinks. “I’m… I’m _really_ sorry.” Yuri repeats, gaze cast downwards.

“No I… I think I understand.” Otabek says, “Thank you for telling me.” The face he wears is confliction, something Yuri vaguely recognises after knowing him for so long. There’s an open question in the air that hasn’t been asked but still, they both know what it is – there is only one thing left to address after all.

“It’s not something you should be thanking me for…” Yuri says, stalling despite knowing he’s nervous. _The Ice Tiger of Russia is nervous!_ “Of all people, you deserve an explanation after I idiotically walk out on you after you confess that—“ Well he just brought this full circle on himself now didn’t he? “Confess… _that_.” He emphasises. Otabek nods, facial confliction still unchanged.

“You don’t need to force an answer right away—“

“I don’t think I’d know what to do.” He cuts in, red smearing his cheeks abruptly. “I mean… I know how to answer a confession. I’m not stupid I just… well what the fuck do people even do in relationships?” Otabek blinks at Yuri’s bluntness. He should have expected this much at least.

“We could learn together I suppose?” He suggests, shrugging. “If… that’s something you’d be interested in?”

“Well I suppose so.” Yuri agrees, “I mean, I’ll be real here because I’m not… well yeah ok I _am_ nervous— but I’m not walking around this; I think I like you? I haven’t given it much thought in these past few days really? I just want to see what happens but I honestly have no clue how to do anything? You get me?”

“That’s understandable.” Otabek responds, “We can go at a slow pace and… test things out, see how you feel. Start with… a date?” Yuri feels the burn creep under his skin.

“Yeah okay… a—a date… when we get back home sounds cool.” He nods. “B-but if we _do_ end up becoming an official couple… my only rule is we don’t become mom and dad.” Otabek raises his eyebrows at the tittle, head tilting questioningly as Yuri groans, face palming.

“Did you just call Viktor and Yuuri your mom and dad?” He dares smirk at the teen.

“Maybe? You know what, who fucking cares anymore. Yea, I did. Is that gonna be a problem?” He folds his arms in the usual, signature look of challenge. Otabek’s mouth forms into a complete smile.

“Not at all.” He shakes his head. “Who’s the mom in that relationship anyway?” Yuri’s face reddens some more if possible.

“BEKA!” A pillow is thrown off the bed.

“That’s _my_ bed you’re messing up _Yura_.” Otabek teases, throwing the pillow back. Yuri catches it in surprise, face shifting into an identical smirk. “You’re rule makes sense to me. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“Good.” Yuri nods, snatching the second pillow. It lands smack bang in the middle of his friend’s face, following another until the bed is practically bare of any pillows. They’re slowly removed from the other’s face, a mischievous glint in his eye as he gathers his ammo up. There’s only a split second of realisation that dawns upon Yuri before he’s practically smothered in retaliation.

He bursts out into laughter as the pillow explodes, and he stares, confident and _finally_ feeling like the Yuri Plisetsky he knows. “This is your fault.” He blames Otabek, who merely rolls his eyes.

“Sure.” He agrees, “Whatever you say Yura, whatever you say.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, I'm sure you may be wondering stuff like "what? so what's their relationship?" or '"HERE'S BARELY ANY OTAYURI!"  
> Chill, these things take time. Also please note the 'Eventual Otayuri' tag, or something along those lines.
> 
> This is really only the first of many conversations, one where they try to cover everything and nothing at all. Will we see more conversations? For the sake of this fic, probably not, but the implications behind the unseen conversations WILL be obvious through Yuri's interactions with everyone.
> 
> Only three more chapters to go! WOW!
> 
> (This story isn't Beta Read!)


	18. ありがとうございます

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Kimi ga ka zo ku o eranda node wanai. Kimi ga ka zo ku ni taishite sōdearu yō ni, ka zo ku wa kami sama ga kimi ni ataeta okuri monona nda.” She hums, “You don’t choose your family. They are God’s gift to you as you are to them.”
> 
> “Well it was a shitty gift.” Yuri begins, freezing once he realises his rude outburst. “Uh… shit um…sorry, God?” Mari snorts, shaking her head with an audible ‘tsk’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As forewarning, please excuse my atrocious Japanese - i'm still learning!
> 
> Ah But I really do love the Katsukis okay? I felt the need to give them a little spotlight.
> 
> Oh and the chapter tittle literally just says "Arigatou Gozaimasu" - "Thank You" in Japanese
> 
> "Tadaima" is pretty much "just now" in english, but the context of the sentence makes it mean "I'm [back] home" Okaeri is self explanatory.
> 
> Hai - Yes/ okay/ sure, depending on sentence context it can mean anything from "Alright" to "Of course" TBH, in this case it literally just means "yes" - Yuri is not entirely proficient in Japanese so his sentences are rather basic.
> 
> Nee-chan* - My older sister  
> Ototou - My younger brother
> 
> *I could go into the semantics of sibling terminology here. There are a few ways to call a sibling in Japanese, especially if they are older, for instance "onee-chan" would have been correct, and meant a little more personal than "nee-chan" but considering Mari uses her name before that word usually, (i.e Yuuri refers to her as "Mari Nee-chan") I figured that in this case, and because Yuri doesn't know terminology properly, she'd go with something more familiar (What Yuri has heard Yuuri say) for him.
> 
> Now watch me cry and struggle NEXT chapter as I base it all on Russian. (Hint hint: My Russian is worse than my Japanese)
> 
> Since I really didn't bother with checking (I don't trust google and I THINK I can do it???), if I made an error please correct me, especially that quote. Sentence structure is always a struggle of mine.

Yuri is still a minor, and therefore must sit beside one of the two available legal guardians on the flight back to Japan; so that is why he’s sitting beside Yuuri and not Otabek, and he’s kicking Viktor’s chair as he throws scraps of paper with little messages, from the kiddie activity booklet the staff had given him, to Otabek, like a little high school kid passing notes in class.

“Yura, stop kicking Vitya’s chair.” Yuuri scolds as Yuri chucks another scrunched up note to the pair of seats in front of him. Why are they in pairs anyway? What kind of waste of space was this? Yuuri places a hand on Yuri’s knee and surprisingly, it works in calming him down.

“Why are we even going back to Japan anyway?” He shoots the Japanese a look, ignoring the suspicious smirk peering over the back rest of the chair in front of him. _Plink_. Something hits the arm rest of his chair. _Plink._

“Because—“ _Plink_. “Viktor stop throwing skittles at Yura you overgrown man child!” Yuuri hisses, throwing the offending projectiles back. He somehow catches them in his mouth, smugly turning back in his seat. “I swear to god…” Yuuri shakes his head.

“Yuuri.” Yuri speaks up, uncaring, “Japan?”

“What? Oh, yes.” Yuuri remembers, nodding his head. “Well, if you remember… about a month or so ago, Viktor and I got married—“

Oh _shit_.

“And we sort of left our stuff at the Onsen, the stuff we couldn’t take at least. _Okaasan, Otousan_ and _Mari—Neechan_ would like to know you’re alright too.”

_Fuck_.

The reality of the situation sits with Yuri in silence as Yuuri decides to nap for the remainder of the trip. Viktor eventually offers to play one of the aircraft’s silly children’s games on the tablet imbedded into the seats and Yuri only takes the slightest satisfaction in beating him at a game of battleships. After a while even that gets to be boring for Viktor, and Otabek turns to toss a crumpled paper plane, smirking as Yuri questions the folded paper.

_You doing okay? You’re not kicking Viktor’s seat._

Beneath it is a terrible resemblance of a tiger, a happy emoticon right beside it. Yuri snorts, tearing a page from the stupid colouring book, scribbling down his response before crumpling it into a ball and tossing it over the seat. He pockets the note and doodle with a soft, secretive smile.

 

* * *

 

 

The path leading up to the familiar Onsen seems to be much shorter than Yuri remembers, and yet twice as long to walk upon. He isn’t even aware he’s slowed his pace, too lost in the ‘ _You ruined their Honeymoon’_ mantra to hear when Otabek calls his name.

“Yuri!” He snaps his eyes up, startled. Otabek is at his side, a hand tentatively on his shoulder as Viktor and Yuuri, a little ways away, pause in their movements to turn back. _So selfish, you haven’t even apologised!_

“I’m sorry!” He blurts out, a hand covering his mouth is surprise. “I—I didn’t realise and… I just…” He inhales, sighing heavily. Otabek doesn’t speak, just as expected of him, but he does pull Yuri into his side, letting the blonde rest his head as he gathers his troublesome thoughts.

“Yura, what’s wrong?” Viktor asks, concern written all over his face, they’re at his other side now, waiting.

“I fucked up you guys’ honeymoon and I’m… just a fucking selfish idiot…” He says slowly. There’s the calm gentle breeze that Yuri can hear as he suspects that the others are exchanging looks of concern. He doesn’t want to look up, almost terrified – and he knows for no good reason – that when he does, they’ll shove him away.

“A honeymoon can happen again.” Viktor finally says, pulling Yuri away from the safety of Otabek to grip his shoulders lightly. Crystal blue meet with turquoise green, and despite knowing he could shrug out of the hold, he’s far too mesmerised by the striking colour to do anything. “Listen to me, _very_ carefully Yura.” His voice is impeccably soft, as if worried he’ll scare him away, “We just want you safe. You’re allowed to feel the way you do, and you’re allowed to depend on others. You’re safe, and you are here and none of us would ever trade this for anything else.”

“That’s a lie and you know it.” Yuri weakly tries.

“It’s not.” Yuuri says, shaking his head, “Out of this entire journey, if all we learn is how to help stop the hurt, then I— _we_ , would not trade that knowledge for _anything_ , no honeymoon, no nothing. Okay? That is something worth protecting.”

He awkwardly stands there, letting Yuuri’s small inspirational speech settle in. He isn’t entirely sure how to respond and fears that if he were to open his mouth, he may just end up vomiting strange syllables as a result. He’s silently thankful when they all decide wordlessly to return to the path up to the Onsen as a collective, huddled close together like Yuri’s personal protection squad.

At the door, Hiroko greets them, eyes immediately landing on Yuri and she screams, delighted, as she pulls the boy into a strong embrace. “ _T-tadaima…”_ he whispers gently, voice cracking as he wraps his arms around her. He’s the same height, and sure to surpass eventually, but the warmth she brings reminds him fondly of his grandfather— of Yuuri even.

“ _Okaeri Yu-kun._ ” Hiroko whispers into his hair, _welcome home._

 

* * *

 

 

He sits on the steps that lead up to the house, hands to chin as he blows some hair from his face. It’s ironic how similar is new haircut is to Viktor’s current one, with the only difference being that his is all the same, short length minus the fringe and Viktor for some unknown reason had decided to do with what has begun to grow out into a bowl haircut.

Yuri sighs as he stands up, feet taking him wandering all throughout the house. There isn’t much else to do while the others are preoccupied with helping the Onsen. Yuri was _supposed_ to be doing that too, but had decided that a small break wouldn’t hurt if he was sneaky.

He turns into another room, much darker and isolated than the rest. He’s never been in this room before and the vibe it gives off explains why. It feels sacred, untouched, and his presence merely disturbs it. But before he can turn to leave he feels a tug towards the centre of the back wall, opposite the door, pulling and prodding him forward.

He doesn’t know much about Japanese culture despite Viktor’s insistent yelling about how great their customs are. What he knows is what Viktor knows, and while it’s more than the average tourist, it’s no where near enough to prevent accidental offenses like he feels he’s committing now.

It’s a shrine, he doesn’t need extensive cultural awareness to recognise the area for what it is, a few unlit candles and pictures adorning the space by its side. Yuri steps forward, hesitant as the excitement pulls him _closer_. The picture frames all hold the same boy, much younger and much smaller, around 5 years of age, with perhaps the oldest dating to the child as a man, grown 20.

_It’s Yuuri_.

Yuri was vaguely aware that the Japanese skater had owned a dog. Was also made aware that the dog’s name had been Viktor, a namesake of the owner’s husband. It had been a joke, a constant stream of Yuuri’s obsession, but now, as he stands, uncertainly sitting cross legged at the spot in front of the picture, he begins to wonder if there was another story that he’d not been told yet.

The door slides open and his head turns around, Katsuki Mari pausing to watch him intently. “You’re doing it wrong.” She simply says, feet padding against the ground. Soon she’s beside him, kneeling and lighting incense sticks and the candles, body shifting towards him in waiting.

Yuri jumps, hastily falling to his knees, earning an approved nod from the older of the Katsuki siblings. “Vicchan was Yuuri’s best friend.” She explains, as if the weight of her words were the answer. “And then he met Viktor and you.” She doesn’t pray like he’d figured she would, but she does rest her palms flat on her lap. “And because of that, you’ve met us.” There’s a pause.

“ _Kimi ga ka zo ku o eranda node wanai. Kimi ga ka zo ku ni taishite sōdearu yō ni, ka zo ku wa kami sama ga kimi ni ataeta okuri monona nda._ ” She hums, “You don’t choose your family. They are God’s gift to you as you are to them.”

“Well it was a shitty gift.” Yuri begins, freezing once he realises his rude outburst. “Uh… shit um…sorry, God?” Mari snorts, shaking her head with an audible ‘tsk’.

“ _We_ are your family.” She corrects him, “You didn’t chose to meet us, it happened.” She points at him, a finger invading his space and prodding his chest. “Don’t forget that, okay?” Yuri nods, eyes wide.

“ _Hai, arigatou gozaimasu,_ Mari.” He whispers, bottom lip bitten as he recounts some of the few words he actually knows. She wrinkles her nose in response, contemplation on her face.

“ _Nee-chan_.” She corrects him, pointing to herself, “ _Ototou.”_ She then points to him again. “I know my brother sort of adopted you? Or… something? But I’m too young and pretty to be an aunt.”

Yuri laughs, for once content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND WE ARE TWO CHAPTERS AWAY FROM THE END OH MY GOD!!!!
> 
> I felt that Yuri visiting the shrine was important, it's kind of a place for acceptance, physical proof that what has happened can't be changed (In regards to Vichan) and that moving on must eventually happen (In regards to Yuri). So I guess it's safe to say that while Yuri is still in that weird depressed stage of moving on, he's now turning towards acceptance, albeit slowly. There's still some guilt (As evident from the honeymoon) but he's learning to cope and deal with it.
> 
> See you guys next chapter!
> 
> (This story isn't beta read!)


	19. Сча́стье

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Good.” Lilia approves, a nod following her comment, “Don’t be foolish and speak up. A Prima Ballerina faces hardships and fights. They know nothing else. Their old ways are gone, their past self is dead. All they can do is fight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah! The second last chapter of this story!  
> I'm really sorry it's super short, I had exams the past couple of weeks BUT DON'T WORRY!  
> I plan for the final chapter to be much, much longer! If there are delays, I do apologise, but I'm hoping that it can come out on time.

“They’re gonna be here in 20 minutes!” Phichit announces to the crowded room. There’s a moment of terse silence, followed by the comical flurry of movement, and along with it the mass hysterics for the incomplete surprise party.

“We’ll be fine.” Christophe laments, a lazy hand waving. Behind him, Sara races across the apartment to tidy up the kitchen. “You’ve planned this down to the T, Viktor and Yuuri know what’s going on, Altin is distracting the little Yuri from suspicion and Mila has just finished setting the table with Michele for lunch.”

“We all remember our roles yes?” Phichit pipes up, turning to face the skaters. Georgi offers a thumbs up as he dashed off the secure the balloons to their spots, for some reason insisting they had some to decorate.

Lilia merely nods and returns to fiddling with the furniture, deciding that the way the newlyweds had their house arranged was not to her liking one bit.

“Mr Feltsman?” Phichit pipes up, catching the bolder coach’s eye. He’d insisted on remaining rooted to his spot in the couch.

“Yes, yes I know. Kill the bloody brat when we see him.”

Phichit raises an eyebrow in question.

“... We don’t kill the brat when we see him.” He berates, a sigh escaping his lips. “We create a welcoming and supportive environment.” It’s as if Yakov is quoting a textbook, exasperated as Phichit beams in approval.

“Good, now don’t forget.” He is momentarily distracted from a notification, gasping as he reads; “They’re down the driveway!” He yells, and like that, the house falls into silence.

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m going to sleep for a thousand years and you guys aren’t gonna fucking wake me till the next Olympics!” Yuri groans, a hand tugging his suitcase along as he follows. There’s an odd tension in the air but he chalks it up to being jet lagged — something he can’t admit he’s ever felt before.

“Unpack first.” Yuuri reminds him, but it sounds like an empty reminder, almost as if he’s not serious at all. “Makkachin will have missed us.”

“And Potya.” Yuri realises, freezing for a second. “Holy fucking shit— I left Potya alone and—“

“Potya is fine.” Otabek cuts in, “She’s been in your room at Lilia’s.” There’s a sigh of relief that follows as Yuri nods, guilt lingering as he resumes his pace.

He isn’t quite so sure when Viktor and Yuuri’s guest room had become his own — somewhere around the same time Yuuri had moved to Russia he thinks. Admittedly he’d been in denial over this fact, but slowly, slowly, over time the small room had gathered personality — all the characterisation that’d been missing from his other room with his coaches. He’d almost forgotten he’d had a place here, it felt nice to come back to it.

Viktor hastily grabs his key and fiddles with the lock, stepping aside to let Yuri pass through. Confused, the teen shoots him a glance before hesitantly grabbing the doorknob. “The fuck? Move already, Jesus — come on Beka, I’ll show you the room I have here.”

He pushes the door, grasping the Kazakh by hand as he leads him through. It’s bright, there’s balloons and streams and a huge as fuck banner and skaters — ones he’s known from the competitive circuit for years screaming out his name.

“Welcome home Yuri.” The mushy cute couple behind him whisper, and it’s far louder than any of the greetings before him.

 

* * *

 

 

Yuri almost screams, almost. When everyone beams up at him like he’s just won the Olympics. Well, he will be, if he has anything to say on the matter; but he knows that’s not why he’s the centre of attention.

In all honesty, he begins to understand why Yuuri can become overwhelmed at times, the sheer number of happy people and delighted chatter and sudden hugs is enough invasion of personal space as he can manage. Yuuri offers him a knowing look as the other skaters talk amongst themselves, discussing what’d happened for the umpteenth time.

Yuri appreciates the well wishes, he just doesn’t feel particularly happy that he’s being celebrated when he’d caused so much trouble. He’d yet to even make eye contact with Lilia and Yakov, having mumbled apologies to Mila and Georgi for scaring them and talking to Phichit and Chris about what he’d missed. Apparently they were a couple now.

“I’ll distract them, you can go to sleep if you want Yura.” Yuuri says not unkindly. He places a hand on top of the boy’s head, height almost matching his as he pulls away. “Shall I tell Otabek to find you?”

“Yeah, thanks Katsudon.” Yuri grumbles, already breaking away, he slips out of the main living space unnoticed.

Or so he thinks.

“Finally had enough hmm?” He isn’t one to bite his lip and look down at the ground ashamedly, especially not in front of Lilia and Yakov, but he does so anyway as he pauses.

“Chin up.” Lilia demands, “We did not drill properness into you only for it to dwindle. Look when we speak and hold grace for your own self-worth.” Yuri complies immediately, waiting for the two to berate him. He’d been a fool and only hopes that these two have common sense to at least scold him. “Your foolishness caused a lot of problems.” Lilia barks, eyes narrowed, “We’re disappointed that you failed to have acted with the maturity you so demand.” He nods, like he would during his ballet cross training, he accepts the stinging words.

“I’ve already dealt with Viktor, I don’t need your stunts either.” Yakov grumbles, arms crossed. He remains unmoved before sighing.

This was it, the infamous Yakov explosion.

“Are you doing better now at least?” He asks weakly, and it’s surprising how unfamiliar he appears, “Was your childishness at least worth… fixing? Helping? You?”

Yuri is at a loss for words. “Da.” He begins hesitantly, “I think so.”

“Good.” Lilia approves, a nod following her comment, “Don’t be foolish and speak up. A Prima Ballerina faces hardships and fights. They know nothing else. Their old ways are gone, their past self is dead. All they can do is fight.” Lilia turns to her ex-husband, a singular nod in his direction, alluding to _something_ else. “I’ll leave you be.” She finalises, “Yakov we’ll need to go soon, there’s some last minute finance we need to discuss. And you—“ she pointedly stares at Yuri. They shake hands, a parting of ways. “It was a pleasure working with you.” Her heels click as she leaves.

Now Yuri is confused, turning to stare at his coach as the man groans, looking at the woman with something foreign. “Are you… Yakov you’re getting back together?!” Yuri realises, eyes widening. He isn’t so sure how but suddenly everyone seemed to be coupling up.

“I’m not discussing my marriage with you now.” Yakov warns, a hand pinching the bridge of his nose. “There’s been… an opportunity for you… you and your skating.” Yuri doesn’t know what to think, but he does remember the oddity of shaking Lilia Baranovskaya’s hand. He stares at his coach, eyes wide.

“What kind of opportunity?” He asks, but he already knows before it is said.

 

* * *

 

 

Otabek knocks on the bedroom door hesitantly as Yuri shuffles within the room. It takes not even a second more before it’s thrown open, inviting him into the small space. “Finally, you took your time.” The younger complains, dragging his… friend? Boyfriend? Person of Interest, he decides, into his room. They hadn’t gone on many dates. Twice in Australia when they’d had the chance. It was still experimental though, and so they’d only done so much before they’d had to go home.

“Are you feeling better?” He tries, moving to sit on the bed. He doesn’t hear the answer though, too focused on the surroundings and decor of the room.

It’d been so much more lively than the one he’d seen.

“Beka? What’s got you up in your head?” Yuri’s voice calls out, a hand waving in front of his eyes. Otabek blinks slowly, thinking.

“It’s just… different here.” He says lamely, “I saw your room at… Lilia’s. It barely looked touched but here…”

“Oh.” Yuri mutters, surprised. He hadn’t known that Otabek had seen the shell of a room. “Well yeah… I hang out here a lot more…”

It’s not the room on Otabek’s mind however, there’s something else.

“I saw your medals.” He swallows, eyes darting away. “In the container Viktor gave you? The— the broken ones under your bed…”

“The medals.” Yuri’s eyes widen. “Fuck… um… yeah.” He isn’t sure how to address that specific topic, or how much is known. “I wish you hadn’t seen that.”

“No don't.” Otabek starts, “I mean… talk… to me. Okay? No more hurt.” Yuri’s eyes widen, stinging somewhat.

“Okay.” He mutters, a small, hopeful smile on his face, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there's another chapter.  
> All loose ends shall be tied next chapter - don't worry!
> 
> (This story isn't Beta Read!)


	20. And I’ll Let You Know, Again and Again, Over and Over, Forever and Ever, I Love You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But Yuri had faith, if they’d come this far, a few thousand miles was nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go my friends — the FINAL CHAPTER!

**Is there anything you** **_wish_ ** **you could say to him but know that you wouldn’t?**

_ “He’s hardworking.” _ Yuuri says boldly, turning to face the phone recording their interview. He does not waste a moment for answering,  _ “Yuri is one of the most hardworking skaters I’ve ever met. He’s tough, and a little rough shelled but he’s kind, and he cares. Yuri is someone I think 11 year old me would have liked to have known.” _

_ “And you?”  _ the question is directed towards Viktor, who only beams and nods his head.

_ “I’ve known Yura for a very long time. Before he were even a little grapefruit.”  _ Viktor explains,  _ “I may not have been present for his entire childhood, but for the past years of being his rink mate, Yuri has only ever come across to me as strong, brave, independent – perhaps a little like a kitten but don’t tell him I said that.”  _ He pauses to laugh, “ _ But he’s as much a friend as he is a makeshift family, and I think I can speak for both of us in saying that we love him and couldn’t have it any other way.” _

The room  _ should _ feel heavy after such an admittance to something so personal, but instead there’s a sensation of something else. Something too foreign for anyone else to truly grasp, something personal for the skater couple.

_ “That’s very sweet of you.”  _ They get told, but the comment is only of standard response. They don’t expect anyone else to understand though; their connection with each other is unique to them alone.

“ _ He’s a sweet kid, when you get to know him.” _ Yuuri says easily,  _ “Perhaps he doesn’t like our physical affection all the time, but he shows his love in his own way.”  _ Their interview is about to draw to a close, there’s nothing more to say and Yuuri feels rather proud for having managed to talk about his own life so openly.

“ _ I hope one day that he’ll be able to feel more free to do so.”  _ Viktor says later, as an afterthought,  _ “He deserves all the love in the world.” _

The pages crinkles under pressure of forefinger and thumb, grip tightening as Yuri lets out a shaky breath.

He never had finished reading that article, had he?

He doesn’t think that reading it sooner could have made everything else easier, but he does think that perhaps he wouldn’t have been as reluctant to talk. He closes the magazine and eyes the cover, smiling softly at the three of them on the glossy pages.

“We’re about to start the— Oh my gosh is that the magazine I did the interview for?” Yuuri cuts himself off, eyes wide. He hastily enters the teen’s room, moving to sit beside the blonde on his bed as he takes it gently from his hands. He flicks through the pages delicately, quickly landing on the centre spread due to its consistent practice in having been opened there. “It  _ is _ .” He mumbles quietly after a minute, skimming the words of the past.

In the background, they can hear Viktor calling for Makkachin, the poor dog wanting nothing to do but sleep, as she is made to eat her late dinner. The two in the bedroom promptly ignore this.

“Where did you even  _ find _ this?” Yuuri asks, awed, “This is  _ definitely  _ not available in Russia, barely in Japan… did you get this in Australia?”

“Yeah.” Yuri nods, stares blankly at the words. “Guess even while getting away from you gross loveshits I can’t.” It’s a joke, which Yuuri thankfully sees as he hums, tapping a particular paragraph.

“I suppose I owe you something now, don’t I?” He laughs, closing the magazine carefully. Yuri smirks finger to chin as he makes a show of thinking.

“PlayStation games.” He decides, standing.

“Sure, so long as I can play too.”

“We can let Viktor sob as he misses out.”

“Cruel, but he isn’t very good at games, no.”

“Then deal.” They exit the bedroom, hands shaking in agreement. Yuri pauses, lingering. “I… You don’t have to.” He says quietly, “I don’t actually want anything from you… just… be here.” He says awkwardly, trying to get his message across.

Yuuri smiles softly, pulling him into a side hug; he realises that Yuri is almost his height, just surpassing his chin. “Well, I still want to play video games so you can still pick them out, but that is kind of you Yura.”

The embrace is broken by the  _ other _ Russian, bounding into the hallway.

“Oh there you are!” Viktor cheers, wrapping his arms instinctively around the two. Yuri makes a squawk of protest, wriggling to break free. “Aw, don’t try to escape Yura!” Viktor teases, tightening his grip, “It’s designated hug hour!”

“We already  _ had _ designated hug hour!” Yuri shrieks, arms flailing uselessly. “Katsu-mom, tell the Old Man to stop suffocating me!”

“It’s not suffocating, it’s  _ smothering _ .” Viktor corrects, “Smothering you with my love!”

_ He deserves all the love in the world. _

Yuri momentarily recalls the interview, body stilling as he left Viktor to continue his hugging obsession. “Fine.” He concedes, earning a  _ chirrup _ from the eccentric man as he continues to squeeze the living daylights out of him.

“Did you just call me ‘Katsu-mom’?” Yuuri’s voice pipes up, halting their odd movements of limbs.

“He called me an Old Man, Love. I’m mortally wounded.” Viktor argues back. Yuri rolls his eyes at the sheer ridiculousness of it all.

“Okay let's go, we’ve been standing long enough.” Yuri cuts in before anymore could be said. It’s a reluctant thing where they seperate, even Yuri feeling the odd pull to stay within the comfort of their arms for a little longer as they move.

“You better have made buttered popcorn, and not that gross store shit, the good stuff — Katsu-Mom you better have gotten the Old Man’s recipe right.”

“Viktor has a recipe for buttered popcorn?” Yuuri pauses, eyes frowning, “What am I saying, of course you would, but no, I haven’t. Viktor can do that, I’m fine with chips.”

“Peasant movie-marathoners.” 

They wander into the living room, passing the large display cabinet to the side. It runs from floor to ceiling, and shines crystal clear, having once been used to contain Viktor’s medals, leaving specs of dust in the vacant spaces beside each one. Looking at the shelves now, there’s almost no space, besides the old are the new; an abundance of silver and bronzes and a few golds too, littering the shelves. 

In the center of the middle shelf are three medals, each one considered beyond precious. In years to come, should the rest be thrown away or given to good causes, these are the three that stay. On the left sits Viktor’s silver, the fifth one he’d received after Yuuri had won gold. It had been a joyous day, the beginning of a new story as the earning of 5 golds had finally fulfilled the promise before marriage.

To the right sits Yuuri’s first silver medal, the one that had defined the efforts and achievements of Viktor and he’s budding relationship in both the skating world and lives. It’s just as shiny as Viktor’s silver, and sits just as proudly.

In the middle is the worn and torn medal that had been cracked and in disrepair. The one that Viktor had spent hours painstakingly sticking back together, that Yuri himself had been ashamed of once.

It’s not bright, it doesn’t gleam and shine like the others and it isn’t as perfectly shaped, but it’s perhaps his most favourite of them all.

The cabinet doesn’t look so lonely anymore and neither are any of them.

“So what are we watching again?” Viktor asks for the billionth time, heading towards the kitchen to start making the popcorn as Yuuri sets up the couch for optimal coziness.

“Death Note.” Yuuri reminds him, “That anime _ Okaasan _ quoted when we were at the onsen?” 

“Oh yes! The sleep one!”

“Sure, well go with that.”

Yuri wanders over to the couch, nodding in satisfaction towards the pillow piles and blankets strewn around them like a makeshift tent. He climbs under the many quilts and sidles up to Yuuri’s side, cold toes poking at his ankles.

“Are all Russians cold or am I just really unlucky to be living with two unnaturally cold ones?” Yuuri asks aloud, rubbing at Yuri’s arms to generate heat.

“No you’re abnormally hot darling.” Viktor calls from the stove.

“Damn right I am.” Yuuri snorts, grabbing the remote at his side.

“There are like…  _ eight _ discs and  _ two  _ giant ass DVD boxes.” Yuri notes, grabbing one to read the back. He frowns at the Japanese. “I can’t read this for shit… oh wait, I recognise this word; it says Death Note.” 

“That’s written in English.” Yuuri says, peering over to the box. “It’s just the blurb, don’t read it or you’ll get spoiled.”

“It’s japanese. I can’t.”

“You  _ can _ .” Yuuri corrects him, “if you spent enough time you’d realise you recognise enough words to fill in the gaps.”

“Yeah but I want to watch, not read. How many episodes are there?”

“37. They’re about 20 minutes each.” There’s a pause.

“We’re gonna need a pee bucket.”

 

* * *

 

“This show is horrifyingly morbid.” Viktor hums, fingers filled with popcorn as he crams the handful into his mouth. Yuuri just doesn't understand how anyone could  _ like _ that much popcorn. The weird flaky parts that get stuck in your teeth and the roof of your mouth… it makes him shudder just at the thought.

“This is… rather tame.” Yuri states, eyes glued to the screen.

“He’s murdering innocent people now!” Viktor argues, a hand waving to the TV.

“This is pretty tame though.” Yuuri says off handedly, “If you want something gorific, we could start with Parasyte: The Maxim.” 

 “NO!” Viktor hurries, head shaking furiously, he falls silent as he watches the characters on screen, transfixed despite slightly put off by the maniacal plotline.

By the end of the 19th episode, Yuuri pauses the screen, stretching and checking his phone on the coffee table. It’s 2 am, but they don’t have to be at the rink until next week.

“I’m going to the toilet.” Viktor announces, stretching as he stands, tugging the blankets along as he moves. The other two protest to the sudden cold air, scrambling for the stolen warmth as Viktor hurries off, leaving them to their own devices.

“This is nice… it’s good.” Yuri hums eventually, fingers fiddling with a loose thread. “This anime and marathon thing… thanks Katsu-mom.” He says, voice deepening, “And the old Pops”

“Did you just call him Pops?” Yuuri smirks, teasingly.

“No!” Yuri hurries pathetically, “Maybe? You two don’t help either, what’s with those stupid wooden letters on my bedroom door anyway? I’m not some little kid.”

“Viktor’s idea.” Yuuri says plainly, “To add to the ‘you’re our son’ aesthetic I think. Mine was the homemade adoption certificate we made for your birthday.” 

“I  _ knew _ that was you!” Yuri bursts, eyes wide. “Viktor may be all sentimental but he can’t craft for shit! He once tried to make DIY  _ potted plants _ and ended up killing them all in ten minutes.” His body slumps, mind wandering to the small certification hung neatly in his room. “Don’t you want actual kids? You could do it now that we live here and all.”

The reminder of what was possible, amongst other things like finalising their marriage authentically, had not gone forgotten in their household, a sticky note reminding them to get the documents sorted pinned to the white board with their schedule.

The Japanese man taps his fingers against the armrest of the couch, humming in thought, “You already know the answer to that.” He points out, “You’re gonna be our witness still, yes?”

“Of course.” Yuri says, as if it were obvious, “But do you really want to wait for next year when I turn 18? You could get it done sooner…” he trails off, biting his lip.

“As much as I know that Otabek is willing to do so next time he flies over, Viktor and I are sure. You’re our family, not to say Otabek isn’t because he’s important to you, but we want  _ you  _ to do it… since we can’t officially adopt you or anything…” 

“You guys are so sappy.” Yuri rolls his eyes, but doesn’t protest.

“Yeah but you’re warming up to us.” Yuuri teases.

“In your dreams.” Yuri replies back sassily, unphased as he cranes his neck to peer down the hall.  “What’s taking your husband so long? Jesus what is he doing? Peeing the ocean? Shitting bricks?”

He goes to stand, reluctantly abandoning the couch in favour of searching for the missing Russian, as Yuuri busies himself with his phone. “Oh look a reminder; Phichit and Chris’ wedding is in only fourth months… we still need to get your suit Yuri.”

“Yeah, remind me why they want me to be the fucking flower girl again?” Yuri groans as he yawns.

“Because Viktor and I are their best men and it fits our roles perfectly?” Yuuri supplies.

“Ah yes, because I’m your “son”...” 

“You live with us and have an adoption certificate.” Yuri spins on his heel to utter a rebuttal but shuts his mouth rather quickly.

Yeah, Yuuri was right.

* * *

 

Otabek had left after an almost successful attempt at persuasion to get him to stay for the night. Yuri is only sour that he failed, but isn’t all too fussed with the new peace and quiet he now has.

The living room is preparing for the final goodbyes from Phichit and Chris, who’d planned on apparently taking the next flight out of Russia. Yuri had gotten away with not saying goodbye by pretending to be asleep.

He hears the door shut for a final time and some quiet murmuring from outside before a knock echoes on the wood of his room. “ _ Yuri? I know you’re awake, come out we gotta talk about something _ .”

Yuri’s gut clenched as he fears the worst. For all he knows, Yuuri and Viktor Were finally going to try and dissect his brain, despite having told him it was okay to talk when he was ready. He had half a mind to tell Viktor to “ _ Fuck off” _ but held his tongue, grunting in response as he slowly made his way to the door.

Viktor stands there unbothered, a smile on his lips as he beckons the boy to follow him. Yuri does so, not once falling into the trap of a false sense of security. “ _ So what are we doing?” _ He asks gruffly, unamused with the ominousness.

“ _ We’re setting up a Skype chat with Mari. She wants to know how you’re doing and then we have to discuss something important. _ ” Viktor explains casually, as if the anticipation were nothing.

Yuri lets some of the tension roll off of his body, still wary about the discussion to come but relieved that at least the Katsuki family seemed interested in his wellbeing. They find Yuuri already on a call with his sister in the living room.

“ _ Where’s Yurio _ ?” Mari’s voice carries out, and so Yuri makes his presence known by squishing himself next to his namesake.

“ _ Here _ .” Yuri calls, voice unnaturally soft. “Genki desu ka?”

“Genki desu Otouto.” Mari smiles, waving, “ _ And hello to you too Viktor _ .” There’s some small fussing from her end, something out of view of the camera as Yuuri tells her something in Japanese. Yuri doesn’t recognise what, but he can hear his name, Viktor’s name and what he assumes is a country. Whatever it is, it has Mari excited and squealing in equally enthusiastic Japanese.

“ _ They’re talking about the thing we need to talk to you about _ .” Viktor says quietly, a hand patting Yuri’s knee. “ _ We’ve been talking to Yakov and Lilia, and would like to become your new coaches.” _

Yuri can recall freezing, eyes wide as he stares at his rinkmate in surprise. He’d been aware that Yakov had been considering retirement and had already been used to Viktor’s occasional input in skating— but to suddenly uproot  _ everything?  _ He distantly recalls the odd conversation with Lilia and Yakov and everything suddenly clicks into place. They  _ were _ retiring.

“ _ Of course you don’t have to… Yuuri and I have been talking about it and have decided we’ll be moving out of Russia and you’d have to come along with us… and well, I know you’re weird about the whole ‘we adopted you thing’ but in all honesty you really are family and Yuuri and I figured we could help you. Yuuri assisting with your ballet cross training and me with your skating — then we’d both choreograph and— _ “

“ _ Okay _ .” Is all he says, bewildered and unsure how to respond. He just knows he has to say  _ something _ before Viktor runs out of oxygen to breathe and he wants to reassure the silver haired man that he  _ agrees _ . The room is suddenly very quiet and he realises that Yuuri and Mari have stopped talking to hear the discussion at their side. “ _ Okay _ .” He says again just to confirm the idea, “ _ I’ll go with you _ .”

“ _ You will?! _ ” Yuuri echoes, mouth agape.

“ _ I will _ .” Yuri nods, “ _ But you both better help me get that gold. _ ”

“ _ Of course _ .” Viktor says, as if his victory was a given, and with such an unstoppable force as his coaches, who's to blame the confidence? “ _ This is a Gold Medalist skating family after all _ .”

Yuri snorts at the joke before rolling his eyes, an eyebrow quirking up, “Why don’t you just do IBF with Mari and Viktor’s baby juice, that way you’d get an  _ actual  _ skating god for a kid.” Yuuri chokes on air and Mari bursts out in laughter, muttering something about a declined offer.

“ _ Test tube babies are  _ expensive _ Yuri _ .” Yuuri says plainly.

“ _ Then just… the traditional way? Or one of those plastic syringes for fever medication? _ ” Yuri suggests, as if it were obvious. Hey, desperate times call for desperate measures— he’s just thinking outside the box. A modern problem  _ does have  _ a modern solution after all.

“ _ We are not doing DIY home inseminations thanks _ .” Viktor shudders at the thought. That’d certainly make for an odd conversation in later years.

“ _ And my husband isn’t fucking my sister! _ ” Yuuri splutters, checks turning a deep shade of red.

“ _ Why would I fuck Viktor again? _ ” Mari cuts in, having seemingly tuned into the conversation once more. “ _ Sorry, I don’t go for boys who look better in MY stilettos than me _ .” Viktor gawks out in protest as Yuuri and Yuri stare at him in bewilderment.

“ _ IT WAS ONE TIME MARI _ !” It doesn’t explain anything but they suppose that's another story for another time. “ _ I feel as though I should be offended but truthfully I’m really not…” _

Yuri snorts at the outburst and makes a mental note to find out more for future blackmail purposes, in the meantime, he’s busy writing a message out to Otabek in his head, unsure for how he’s supposed to breach such subject. They were still a fresh new thing after all, and it was going to take time for them to come to terms with whatever it was they had.

But Yuri had faith, if they’d come this far, a few thousand miles was nothing.

 

* * *

 

His phone buzzes in his pocket as he makes his way to the bathroom, checking the notification to see that there’s an influx about the Chulanont and Giacometti wedding in the Skaters discord group chat and a private message rom Otabek, asking what he would be wearing.

He reminds himself to answer later, mentally checking the time zones for Kazakhstan as he stops outside the bathroom, sniffing the air conspicuously. Pushing the door open, he finds the source of the sweetened artificial scent that lingers and his jaw drops open in mild mortification and amusement at the mess he is treated with.

Viktor sits amongst the foam, a pleased smile on his face as he practically dives out of the sea of bath bubbles in nothing but his underwear. “Yuri!” He cooes, dragging the teen with him; Yuri screams as he becomes soaping wet. “ISN’T THIS AMAZING?! I FOUND THE BATH BUBBLE MIX!”

Yuri can only snort as the tiles of the bathroom floor continue to fill with water, the garters of the bathroom being the only thing to prevent any water from seeping beneath the door. Viktor splashes him as he dives back into the rather large jacuzzi tub, and before Yuri can protest he’s faced with the jets blasting more bubbles into the room and  _ disco lights _ illuminating the room.

“YUURI!” Yuri screams, hoping his voice travels through the walls, “YOUR HUSBAND MADE A MESS!”

“We’ll you’re no fun.” Viktor pouts, throwing bubbles into his face.

“You’re a child.” Yuri deadpans, wiping his face, “Katsudon is gonna kill you.”

Right on time, Yuuri comes walking into the room, slipping as the water sweeps underneath him and spills into the corridor, letting him stare bewildered into the mess of the bathroom. “Viktor seriously,  _ again _ ?!”

There’s some shuffling as Yuuri wades his way into the room, disbelief on his face as Viktor sheepishly grins, pushing water and bubbles away as he offers a tentative hand. “Hello Love, Care to join us?” Yuuri snorts as he awaits for the eventual screaming.  _ Viktor was a dead man _ .

Instead, Yuuri’s eyes flicker and his lips curve into a smile, like stalking his prey as he makes his way towards his husband. There’s only a second of hesitation as he raises his hand, and suddenly Viktor had been dunked under, left to resurface as he coughs and Yuri laughs. “You’re cleaning this.” He warns before shoving a handful of bubbles into his face. 

Viktor doesn’t argue, he pulls both his Yu(u)ris in and laughs along with them. 

There’s going to be a big mess to clean up later, Yuri would hate to be Viktor then, but in this moment and in this time, as he laughs and has fun in the sheer ridiculousness of everything, he feels lighter and at ease unlike ever before.

It’s not perfect, it’s not conventional and it most certainly isn’t what Yuri had imagined his life would look like when he’d first joined the senior skaters years ago, but it’s real and it’s  _ his _ and he’s happy.

Like waves rolling onto sand, the tension and anxiousness seeps from his shoulders, spilling into the mix of a  _ bath bomb _ that had somehow landed amongst the bubbles and water. He doesn’t completely understand everything about himself, he’s still learning and he thinks he may forever do so, but he knows that he now has people by his side as he goes.

Yuri can’t say he knows what’s in store for him, he can’t say he’s sure what’ll happen between he and Otabek, but he does know that he’s found a family, perhaps not one he’d been born into but one he’d been gifted. He doesn’t have to be alone any longer — not anymore. 

And he smiles, breaking down the last of those stone walls he’d spent years perfecting, realising that he’s going to be okay; they all are. So the blonde teen allows himself to be loved, and for once,  _ let’s himself _ love with all the love that he has.

And for a certain Yuri Plisetsky-Nikiforov-Katsuki, that’s a whole fucking lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I can’t believe we’ve made it this far... I’m rather sad to see this fic go but thank you so much for sticking with me!
> 
> This work has been really important to me, something I used I suppose as a way to vent and discuss my own emotions so I’m glad I can be proud of this.
> 
> I’ll keep this sweet and short but your support really does mean a lot to me, all the comments and kudos — I can’t ever thank you enough!
> 
> Until next time; see you in another story!
> 
> (This story is not Beta Read!)


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